Relativity
by Linnya
Summary: Many things had happened during the Doctor's time in Wizarding Britain, but not the way he remembered them, and not the way they were supposed to be. Time lines have been changed, and finding out the truth becomes so much more troublesome if your own mind is playing tricks on you. A different take on the Doctor's teaching time at Hogwarts in the universe of Gödel's Incompleteness.
1. The Daily Prologue

Some months ago, I wrote a fanfiction called _Gödel's Incompleteness_ that covered the idea of the Doctor and Barty Crouch Junior being _the same person_ without the influence of a chameleon arc or amnesia. In particular, that meant he would end up on the slow path with an actual life in Wizarding Britain and would ultimately ally with Voldemort.

This story lives in the same, err, multiverse, but I'll try to include enough information on the original plot for this to be able to stand relatively independently. That means that theoretically, you don't need to know Gödel's Incompleteness or remember that much to follow, but if you want to read that story at one point and haven't done so yet, you'll get spoiled if you read on any further here.

So what is this, exactly? Technically, we're dealing with a sequel, but it can also count as an alternate ending. If you prefer the latter, it will branch off the original plotline in the middle of chapter 1994 (7) E in the Doctor's subjective timeline, that is after Dumbledore offered him a teaching position at Hogwarts. In order for everything to fit into the events of the Goblet of Fire, the Doctor had to teach undercover as Alastor Moody, but because he'd just make such a good teacher on his own, let's just override that decision here and find out what could have happened under those circumstances, shall we? :)

There will be an actual explanation for things progressing differently all of a sudden, but more importantly, events will start diverging rather dramatically from the Harry Potter plot (and also get a bit more, well, Whovian).

So now, I'm not really sure what else I wanted to say except for a huge **thank you** to everyone who has supported the story so far and has been waiting so patiently for this, and a special thanks to TheJoyOfZombies for encouraging me to just start uploading. I'm still far from finished writing this down, but I guess it can't hurt to let you know that I'm still working on this :)

After all the introductory ramblings, let's finally get to the story - or its prologue, for now. Which is more of a summarizing teaser, really. Which is, in fact, meant to be a daily prophet article...sans the horrible bias we know from Rita Skeeter. Maybe I'll end up layouting it properly one day, but oh well, for now the usual formatting will have to do. Enjoy!

* * *

**RELATIVITY: Prologue**

**~ THE DAILY PROPHET ~**

_"I could tell you how magic works on a fundamental level, but are you willing to listen? Exactly, you're not, and that is the problem. Most wizards grow up without developing any drive for research, and that is a pity, really, because there is just so much potential." - Bartemius Crouch Junior  
_

**OUT OF PRISON, OUT OF DOUBT?**  
The truth about Hogwarts' new professor

**He made it from prison to professorship. Rarely ever has a comeback been more shocking than that of Bartemius Crouch Junior. **

**London, August 25****th**** 1994.** Some students call it a curse, some call it a blessing. In any case, it has become a sad tradition at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: after every year, the seat of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is left vacant. Throughout the decades, professors ended up hospitalized, dead or in other undesirable conditions. As such, it is not surprising that the number of qualified applicants dropped to zero at last.

What is surprising, however, is how headmaster Albus Dumbledore never fails to find a replacement against all odds. Speculations have run high on how either current Potions Master Severus Snape or ex-auror Alastor Moody would get the call. But if you can expect someone to have an ace up their sleeves, it is Dumbledore. This time, he really outdid himself: He revived a dead man – and an alleged Death Eater, at that.

Bartemius Crouch Junior was a genius at school and beyond, known for both his cheerfulness and an incredible interest in the world as such. As the son of the former Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Bartemius Crouch Senior, nobody had expected him to be affiliated to Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in any way – yet the Dark Mark on his forearm speaks for itself. The scandal of his involvement in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom in 1981 cost the father his position and the son his life. During his stay at Azkaban, Crouch Jr.'s health had deteriorated beyond recovery. He was declared dead in 1982.

So how can it happen that the very same man walked away from death and imprisonment to become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts? What is the true story behind Bartemius Crouch Junior?

We invited him to hear his side of the story. "The world is not black and white," he summarizes, "People are neither good nor evil. Of course you can send me to Azkaban because there's a fashionable skull on my forearm. But you can also ask me why it's there."

With a delay of mere thirteen years, that question was finally asked yesterday. Crouch was granted a proper trial and explained that he had actually befriended the Longbottoms several years before the incident. He had been keen on acquiring knowledge even before attending Hogwarts. So when he began studying the origins of magic, his search eventually led him to Frank Longbottom, who had published several papers on the topic.

"Frank and Alice were brilliant," Crouch remembers, "I was thrilled to meet them, and they didn't disappoint me." When asked where their research led, he talks about parallel worlds, colliding realities and how a quantum of strings could predict the future. "I understand that actual research is uncommon among the magical folks," Crouch ponders, "Maybe that is why it was so hard to find collaborators in the first place."

According to his official statement, Crouch eventually met Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named through the same theories he had already discussed with the Longbottoms. You-Know-Who had been an outstanding academic during his time at Hogwarts, but beyond those years not much is known. "A collaborator?" we ask, "Is that what you would call Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Crouch blinks, and he frowns. "I was advised not to talk too much about this, but let me repeat my earlier statement. You cannot be entirely good or completely evil. _But_ you can be perceived as either."

Just as prominent examples like Nicholas Flamel or Phoebus Penrose show, a wide research network can lead to great success. Crouch, however, faced a huge rebound when both fractions of that network met. "I did not commit the crime I was sentenced for, but I cannot claim to be entirely innocent," so Crouch, "I did not manage helping Frank and Alice in time, and for that I am so very sorry."

Already in 1981, Crouch's sentence had raised a number of questions, for he differed greatly from the average Death Eater. He had been known to love anything muggle-related and detested violence of all kinds. In yesterday's trial, those contradictions were considered anew. Crouch's obvious regret along with a surprisingly logical story convinced the court. He was freed of all charges.

"It's good to be able to breathe again," he comments wistfully, "Both literally and figuratively." Whilst the truth about his alleged crimes had to be attended to first, the question of his actual escape from Azkaban is just as interesting.

"I did not escape," he clarifies, "I died – at least, well, per definition. It was just a simple pneumonia, but it was not attended to. I guess I was lucky to be declared dead when I fell comatose. Although I might as well have been dead for a while, I can't really tell."

Not only was he lucky to be still alive, he was also lucky to have a caring mother. When he was about to be buried alive, a heartbroken Cornelia Crouch noticed the mistaken diagnosis and took it upon herself to look after her son. With her husband's support, she faked her own death to be able to care for her son's recovery. It took her twelve years, yet she succeeded at last.

"I still can't believe I survived," Crouch tells us, "I would never have done so without her. Humans are just amazing like that."

The deception might have been legally questionable, yet authorities chose to turn a blind eye on that detail as mistakes had been made on both sides.

Shortly after his recovery, Crouch met Albus Dumbledore. "I did not even mean to run into him," he remembers, "But there he was, offering me a job. Well, what should I say? I love children."

Dumbledore wrote in his official statement that Crouch was the best choice for the position because he had seen the war from both sides, yet from a neutral point of view. "If anyone can teach children to find their own way, it is him," Dumbledore explained, "Bartemius outpaces most of us in many respects, so I am grateful he has not turned his back on us in spite of our horrible treatment."

Sometimes, people rise from rags to riches. And sometimes, they rise from dead to rehabilitated. Crouch's return comes as just as much of a surprise as his downfall did thirteen years ago. While reasonable enough, his tale is an adventurous one. Only time can tell what further truth lies beyond that cheerful façade, but we know one thing for sure: Hogwarts has gained yet another enigma to teach our children, and we can only hope for something good to come of it.

Prologue - end

* * *

... :D Let's just say Dumbledore had to pull a lot of strings behind the scenes for the Doctor's rehabilitation to work out properly.  
Anyway, it's late so that's it for now. Thank you for reading, and please review!


	2. Intermission

Much love to everyone who's returned for this story, especially to TheJoyOfZombies and denise3 for their great comments! I'm really happy to find so many great people reading this :)

Today, we're tying together what was, what changed and what new problems arise...at least to a certain extent, for now. As such, this chapter happens 1..2 days after the Quidditch World Cup (and the almost-end-of-the-world) and a day before the article from the teaserish prologue. Have fun!

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**Relativity: Intermission**

August 24th, 1994 (8), 14:30  
From Melody's point of view.

"Something's _off_."

Amidst the busy streets of central London, nobody seemed to mind the strange man who had come to a sudden halt in the middle of a cross-walk. "Something has been changed," he spoke to no one in particular, "Just a tiny little detail." When he started tasting the air with a deep frown and an odd humming noise, the pedestrians around him finally took notice of his presence. However, that did not apply to a small girl on the far end of the crossing.

She had been watching him all along.

Clad in a pinstripe suit and a brown coat, unmistakable thanks to freckles and sideburns, he was standing on the street and behaving just the tiniest bit out of the ordinary.

It was him. The Doctor.

If he had just walked past without _noticing_ just as everybody else had, she might not have recognized that man as one of the time lord's many reincarnations. Unfortunately, he _had_ noticed, and so had she.

He was the Doctor, and she would kill him.

"What's different? _What changed?_" he was rambling and looked around frantically. A chorus of hooting reminded him of his location in the middle of a street, and just as he resumed walking with that same deep frown on his face, she set off as well.

He was young, so very young – but that did not matter. She would kill him in any case.

"Have you noticed anything?" he wondered and once more clicked his tongue as if that would answer anything.

She stared back at him, taken aback for a moment. He was talking to _her_. She had been about to pull a gun out of her bag and _he was talking to her_.

"No?" he asked and broke eye contact to look around again, grimacing ever so slightly, "Thought so." She narrowed her eyes, but she had no chance to reply.

Thudding noises alerted her of something new, _something unexpected_.

They had appeared in an instant, out of thin air. Hooded, masked, _unexpected_.

An explosion rang through the air, and it was _close_. Within a blink her surroundings turned into a chaotic mess of screams and panic, and she had yet to find out what was happening.

"What are you doing!" she heard the Doctor exclaiming, but his words stayed unanswered.

One of the hooded men yelled something, and a billboard burst into flames. Marching in her general direction, the strangers raised what looked like wands and _shot civilians with them_.

Another yell, and eventually it was one of the aggressors that was flung backwards through the air. Her dazed gaze travelled to her unexpected saviour. _The Doctor._ As he took a firm stand in front of her, he was wielding a weapon of the same kind their attackers carried. "What are you standing there for?" he called out to her, _"Run!"_

Their eyes locked for a moment.

A curse whizzed past his ear.

Whirling around again, he pulled something silver out of his pocket – a sonic device of some kind. "Let's try the new setting, shall we?" he grinned at his current opponent and pressed a seemingly random button.

Suddenly, they were gone.

The Doctor, the hooded men, and several others.

Melody, however, still stood frozen on the same spot.

_The Doctor._

She would kill him.

But not yet.

* * *

August 24th 1994, 14:35  
From the Doctor's point of view

_What were they thinking?  
And _why_ would a bunch of Death Eaters feel the necessity for such a foolish assault in the first place?_

A wall crumbled under the sheer pressure of no less than nineteen witches and wizards appearing out of thin air at exactly the same time.

He could have chosen a better spot, but his timing had been just right for once. Before the surprise of an unexpected apparition had worn off, the Doctor had managed petrifying most of the remaining Death Eaters – except for the one who was apparently leading them and, of course, those few witches and wizards that had gotten caught up in the battle.

"So what do you think about the sonic's new setting?" he chatted with his strangely familiar yet unknown opponent, wand drawn and ready, "Selective cluster apparition. It drags anyone in the nearness surrounded by a sufficiently dense magical residual along to any place of my choosing. Quite convenient, isn't it?" Narrowing his eyes, he slowly approached the hooded man. "So, back to the matters at hand: what's your name?" he demanded firmly, "and _what do you think you're doing?_" He was waiting for his opponent to respond, but the wizard did not react at all. Instead, he simply stood watching the Doctor in silent apprehension.

With a sigh, the time lord allowed himself to briefly scan the small crowd of magical civilians his cluster apparition had unnecessarily taken along and met the eyes of a ginger witch. "Sorry for getting you involved," he announced and focused his gaze on his opponent again, "This is not your battle, so please escape."

The Death Eater still didn't bother reacting and several plops indicated the departure of the uninvolved wizards, but the ginger witch merely huffed. "They attacked _my children_, so this _is_ my battle, as well," she replied testily and pointed her own wand at the hooded wizard, "Answer his question."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. Her anger was justified, but he would have preferred her out of immediate danger, especially since she apparently _had_ children to look after. But well, at the very least, the Death Eater was finally moving again. "We must acquire pure-blooded wizards," he told the witch in a monotonous voice, "You qualify." Rather than raising a wand, he extended his hand in a welcoming gesture.

"What are you talking about?" the witch retorted and stepped back incredulously, "I will _never_ join you." Her voice was shaking. "_You killed my brothers._"

In slight apprehension, the Doctor looked from the hooded man to the witch and back. He was missing something, but what? To those who wanted to view it that way, it might look like a group of rampant Death Eaters recruiting new ones in quite an inopportune manner. But to him, it felt like…

The Death Eater's hand started glowing ever so slightly.

…a trap.

"Expelliarmus!" the Doctor yelled, and he almost cursed when he remembered the spell did not consider teleportation devices as weapons.

"What are you doing?" the witch asked in confusion, addressing both him and the hooded man as she stepped back defensively, "What do you really want?"

"_Support and information_," the Death Eater replied simply and moved to press a button on his forearm, but the Doctor activated the sonic screwdriver just in time – rather than teleporting the witch who-knows-where, the alleged wizard's arm dropped limply to his side. Turning his head to the Doctor, he produced a small gun from his hand. "You are not qualified," he pointed out, "You must leave."

But leaving was the last thing the Doctor had in mind. A clicking noise rang through the air, and he was grateful that he had bothered disabling _both_ teleportation and gun systems a moment ago. "What are you?" he demanded as he curiously watched the _creature_ in their midst in a new light, "What do you need wizards for? And why do you disguise like that?"

The creature tilted its head. "You are not qualified," it replied, "You must leave."

With another sigh, the Doctor turned to the witch at his side. "What's your name?" he asked her. She frowned at him, but replied at last, "Molly."

He accepted her answer with a curt nod. "Molly, can you ask him in my stead?" he enquired and added with a light grimace, "He doesn't seem to like my face."

As he busied himself scanning the creature with the screwdriver, she regarded him for a long moment, but complied at last. "What is your plan?" she asked the hooded creature.

"We must acquire magic," it replied, "We must win."

"You can't utilize it," the Doctor pointed out as he evaluated the screwdriver's readings with a frown, "Magic itself won't be of any use to you."

"We must acquire pure-blooded wizards," the creature added and raised its hand again.

"I deactivated your teleportation device," the Doctor explained, "You cannot escape, nor can you capture any wizards unless you _explain_ your mission to us."

Once again, the creature ignored him, and once again, the Doctor sent Molly a pleading look. She frowned, but repeated his words, "Explain your mission."

The creature considered its options for a long moment. "The mission cannot be completed," it spoke at last and tilted its head to an odd angle, "emergency protocol activated."

The time lord's eyes widened, but the words' meaning was entirely lost on the witch. "Molly, get out of here!" he called out, "It's going to self-destruct!" Before she could even blink in response, he had already made a mad dash for her and disapparated both of them.

Not a second too early.

Rather, a second too late.

A part of the shockwave travelled with them, and they were literally flung onto the flowery meadow he had targeted. After a rather graceless and quite painful landing, he struggled back to his feet. "Molly, are you alri–"

As if it could be anything else, he was looking up into the pointy end of a wand and found himself sighing, "Why am I not surprised?"

"What game are you playing?" the witch asked him seriously, never lowering her wand even though she was holding it rather shakily. She had gotten up before him, but she had obviously taken some sort of damage as well.

"A game, you say? I rather enjoy chess," he replied thoughtfully as he dared standing up in spite of the threat in her demeanour, "Let's have a picnic and play a round, shall we?"

She faltered for a moment and took a deep breath. "So these Death Eaters were your pawns?" she enquired tiredly, "Were they just sacrifices to gain my trust, _Barty Crouch Junior_?"

With a soft sigh, he started pacing around, unsure how to answer. It wasn't as if he had forgotten his status as an enemy to the general wizarding community. He had worked together with the Dark Lord, and even though people would not understand the truth, they would always remember.

He had just not expected to be recognized so soon – as a matter of fact, he had hoped not to be recognized at all. It would complicate things a lot if people found out he was alive. They would start asking questions and demand both answers and actions he would not stand for. He had a promise to keep, and nothing would make him break it.

Admittedly, accepting Dumbledore's offer in the disguise of Alastor Moody would be troublesome, but at least he would not have to betray his principles that way.

Which was exactly why his current predicament distressed him. He had only meant to run a few quick errands in a relatively wizard-free zone. Who would have expected an actual Death Eater assault? And who would have expected quite a lot of wizards crossing Trafalgar Square in that moment?

But then again…

"Have you ever thought about how some things are basically meant to happen?" he wondered aloud, "I might not have gotten stuck in 1973 in a child's body, I might not have met the Dark Lord and I might not have survived the Wizarding World's ideas of justice, but in the end, all of it happened for a reason." He sent her a soft smile and added, "Maybe even us meeting under these strange circumstances."

Her stance had been guarded during his short speech, but she took an actual step back now. "What are you even talking about?" she stammered.

The Doctor met her apprehensive gaze with a weary one. "I would like to tell you a story, Molly," he offered simply and conjured a bench with a subtle flick of his wand, "A story I didn't even bother telling Dumbledore about."

As he casually flung himself onto the bench, the witch finally lowered her wand. He thanked her with a smile. "By the way," he told her and extended his hand, "I'm the Doctor." Once more, she frowned at him, so he could not help adding, "You might feel inclined to confuse me with what unfortunate image media provided me with, but let me assure you of one thing." His smile softened. "I love humans just as much as you do."

And so he told her about himself - about how he used to travel time and space, going on lots of adventures, meeting all kinds of creatures. But then, twenty-one years ago, he had found himself stranded in a magical world he had no knowledge of. The touch of a weeping angel had sent him back in time, both chronologically and in regards of his physical appearance. He had looked like a child, and that had gotten him adopted into the Crouch family. Amidst family and friends, within an actual home as well as the walls of Hogwarts, he had learned to walk the slow path, and eventually, he had even grown somewhat comfortable with a new name – he had become Bartemius Crouch Junior.

He deliberately left out the parts about his involvement with the Dark Lord, though. Even if he had the patience to explain the truth to her, she might not be willing to understand it, and maybe he didn't need her to; not yet, anyway. They sat in silence until she finally spoke in a thick voice, "Even if I could believe such fiction – why are you telling me all this?"

He blinked at her. Why, indeed? He could have just walked away. He could have disapparated and gone back into hiding without her knowing any more than his face, but...

"You're a mother," he offered, "I used to know a mother who was just as strong-willed as you." He smiled fondly at the memories. "You should have seen her," he mused, "No matter if food, bureaucracy or…whatever, she would do _anything_ for her family." His voice broke, and he only then realized how he had unwillingly navigated their talk into such a sensitive topic. With a blink, he forced his thoughts back to the present. "And because you are a woman who protects her family, I think you need to know that there are more dangerous creatures out there than dark wizards."

"And yet my children were attacked by _Death Eaters_ a mere minute ago," she pointed out testily. Her voice as full of doubt, but her stern expression had softened just a bit.

He met her gaze evenly, "The thing is - they were not Death Eaters, Molly."

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"I've had a fair share of experience with Death Eaters and other creatures alike," he explained with a light frown, "and, well, what just attacked us wasn't even human." He tilted his head. "These were not real Death Eaters but camouflaged androids. I really would have liked to learn more, but we won't find many leftovers if we go back."

Molly's face stayed blank, "…androids, as in…machines?"

"A strange concept to wizards, I know," the Doctor offered with a light, awkward shrug, "but you have to keep in mind you're not the only sentient beings in the universe. I would have preferred staying hidden for a bit longer, but the problem is…there's no telling if more of them will come your way."

He took a deep breath. That was it, then, wasn't it?

Even if he hadn't been seen in public, he no longer had a chance to do anything undercover. Something unexpected had arisen – a new challenge to be accepted, a new problem to be solved, yet not by Barty Crouch Junior…but by _the Doctor_.

Because that was what he did, and what he would always return to doing. _Saving the day._

He would have to change his plans, then, and he would have to do it soon. With that idea in mind, he got up from the bench, only to find Molly's confused eyes still focused on him. "You have the face of a Death Eater and talk like a muggle," she observed quietly, "Who exactly are you?"

Shaken out of his thoughts, he blinked for a moment. "I'm a friend," he summarized and grinned, "but if it finally convinces you…I'm also the one who will teach your children self-defence this year."

Intermission - end

* * *

Sooo, now...well, I'm not really willing to just retell the events of the Goblet of Fire, but I'm not intending to turn this into a happy-go-lucky plot without any conflicts whatsoever, either.

The main idea hinted at in summary and title is still a bit away, though, since I'm restructuring for better readability right now. I'll have to think about that again, though, so it might take a bit until it'll be safe enough to upload the next part here.

In any case, thanks a lot for reading, and, as always, I'll be really happy about reviews!


	3. Reality

So here we go again! Thanks a lot to TheJoyOfZombies for the lovely review. And sorry for taking eternities in updating! I wanted to put it up earlier, but then I decided it needed some more, err, atmospheric content, and well, real life just keeps my writing at a snail's pace at the moment. I hope it's alright the way it is now, so without any further ado: enjoy, everyone!

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**Relativity**

**Part 1: Reality**

_Doctor, September 1st 1994, 18:30_

As his gaze travelled through the Great Hall, the Doctor could not help feeling nostalgic. Just like twenty years ago, Hogwarts was bristling with life. Many children were sitting at their houses' tables in more or less silent apprehension, listening to the headmaster's annual speech without really paying attention – for the Doctor could tell quite clearly how most of those young eyes were focused on him rather than the speaker.

He frowned.

…_what was he doing here again?_

"Lastly, I would like to welcome our new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Barty Crouch Junior," Dumbledore announced and stepped back from the lectern with a grand gesture toward the teacher's table.

As the Doctor got up from his seat on the teacher's table in a deliberately slow motion, murmurs erupted in the Great Hall and accompanied him all the way to front. "With extra-terrestrial visitors and massive progress of non-magical sciences just around the corner, I would really call this subject Defense against Anything Dangerous from now on," he declared rather off-handedly, and the hall finally went silent again, "though if we change that to Defense against Dangers and All Kinds of Stuff, we can still stick with the abbreviation DADA…somewhat." As he noted how his words rather than wild chatters had finally gained his audience's attention, the Doctor allowed himself to grin. "Now, I'm really looking forward to teaching you something useful, and more importantly, to _working with you_," he announced and started rummaging through his pockets before producing a rather worn out newspaper. "So on that note, for any doubts on my integrity, feel free to consult last Wednesday's issue of the Daily Prophet. It basically covers anything I am, admittedly, rather tired of repeating."

Another wave of murmurs echoed through the hall, and he once again wondered whether going public like this had been a good idea. But, oh well, it was too late for regrets now. He would face quite a number of nuisances thanks to that decision, but thankfully, the most annoying part was already taken care of. _Bureaucracy._

He was about to finish his short speech with renewed enthusiasm when he noted a blond boy raising his hand, "Are you serious about _aliens_, Professor?"

The Doctor blinked.

And then he grinned. "Oh yes," he announced, "…and please, don't call me Professor. I'm the Doctor."

* * *

_Severus, September 3rd 1994, 8:00_

"Have you found out anything on these…androids of yours?"

Severus Snape would have liked breakfast progressing as dully as it usually did. Unfortunately, though, his new colleague had decided to grace him with his overly energetic presence.

Just as intended, Bartemius' face fell ever so slightly at the notion of his latest project. "I went back to the site and found some, well, scraps," he explained with a deep frown, "nothing more than that, and their components were so common they could as well have been manufactured in the neighbouring town."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Maybe they were," he offered blankly.

"If they were, then not by ordinary humans," Bartemius replied matter-of-factly, "they haven't quite achieved teleportation…yet." With a soft sigh, he leant back and took a sip of his tea. "I'm running some global scans, but since I don't even know what I am looking for, we might end up having to wait for them to make another appearance."

After a while of contemplation, Severus replied with nothing but an automated answer, "We will know if they do."

For a long time, he had believed Bartemius' ramblings on outer space to be the colourful tales of a daydreamer who just wanted to get out of his dull life. When he had discovered his friend's second heartbeat in the last years of the war, he had finally begun realizing that there might be more to it. But the world had darkened around them, and before he knew it, it was over. The Dark Lord was gone…and so was Bartemius.

He had not expected his friend to survive.

"Can you hand me the jam? I really need some sugar in my system."

And he had never expected him to return with quite as easy-going a façade. If anything, he appeared even more cheerful than during their first shared time at Hogwarts. "You should have some, too, you know," Bartemius added as he reached over the table to get the jam himself, "You really look a bit sour."

Severus refused to believe that the man who dared teasing him in such a childish manner was supposedly over nine hundred years old.

As if he could read that thought through his glare, though, Bartemius suddenly sighed in resignation and looked him in the eye.

"You don't grow old if you don't find a way to enjoy life, Severus."

* * *

_Doctor, September 6th 1994, 9:20_

"Good morning class," he welcomed them with a grin, "Are we sitting comfortably?"

Normally, his enthusiasm would have quite a contagious effect, however he only met blank faces this time. "So, I am supposed to prepare you for the dangers awaiting you in the real world," he went on as he strolled through the classroom, "and, admittedly, there's plenty of that. Thankfully, though, we've got quite a flexible curriculum, so I can ask you now: is there anything _you _would like to learn about?"

As he let his gaze wander once more, the students showed various reactions. Some of them actually raised their hands. But his focus eventually rested on Neville, whose eyes were glued to the table. "Longbottom?" he asked softly, and the boy's fearful eyes met his at last.

Because he had not wanted to discuss such very delicate matters in front of a whole classroom, he had sought the boy out prior to this lesson. He would never be able to make up for what happened in 1981, but he had felt obliged to at least try apologizing by telling him about his parents. "You were there, why didn't you help?" Neville had asked at last, tears streaming down his face freely. "I…was late," the Doctor had replied quietly, "and I am so sorry for that."

Now, as they were standing in the classroom, the same pain he had seen on that evening reflected clearly in the boy's eyes. And yet, Neville finally gulped down his sorrow, dared trusting his voice and offered an answer the Doctor had not quite expected, "I would like to hear about the Unforgivable Curses."

* * *

_Doctor, September 14th 1994, 14:12_

"Hermione, you don't understand," Harry whispered in exasperation, "he's a Death Eater! He might have been found innocent of the crime he was imprisoned for, but he never explicitly said that he _doesn't_ follow Voldemort."

Hermione shot him an angry glare. They had retreated to an empty, secluded area of the library to study in peace, but for some reason, Harry seemed unable to leave that particular topic undiscussed for more than two days. She was slowly growing tired of his suspicions, but thankfully, it was Ron who answered in her stead. "Man, seriously, have you seen him? He's like a muggle-loving bouncy ball," he drawled, "I don't really think You Know Who would be patient enough to put up with that attitude, even my mum said so."

Scandalized, Harry crossed his arms. "I expected Hermione to join his fan club," he huffed, "but you, too, Ron?"

Ron frowned in confusion, yet Hermione's blush gave her away. "He's a genius, Harry," she stuttered as she hastily gathered her things, "but I don't expect you to value something like that."

She was already storming off, but his words held her back. "He was there at the day of the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione," Harry insisted quietly, "He was the one who cast the Dark Mark."

Frozen, she stared at him. "Are you absolutely sure about that?" she asked hoarsely.

"I wouldn't tell you this if I wasn't," Harry replied in a quiet manner, "I saw him, and he saw me, and…I was afraid."

They stood in silence until a new voice entered the conversation.

"Oh, but you have no idea how happy I was to see you," the Doctor offered as he strolled in their direction, "by merely being there, you helped saving the world, you know."

Ron and Hermione actually jumped in shock, but Harry drew his wand. "What are you doing here?" he asked carefully.

"I'm really just enjoying the nostalgia," the Doctor replied with a soft smile and looked around, not intimidated in the slightest, "back in the old days, Severus and I used to come to this exact spot quite often."

"We did not mean to be disrespectful, Doctor," Hermione offered hastily and shuffled back to her friends, "_Harry, put the wand down._"

Her friend looked at her angrily, "The wand I had to buy after _he stole the old one_?"

"_What?_" Hermione shot back incredulously, but the Doctor actually blinked in realization. "Of course, that was _your_ wand," he drawled as he pulled the relic, after a bit of rummaging, out of his frustratingly deep pocket, "Sorry about that, circumstances were…dire, to say the least."

All three teenagers openly gaped at him. "So, this is your wand," the Doctor spoke with a light grimace as he twirled it in his fingers, "and I can't even give it back to you. Do you know why?"

Harry's stare darkened. "Because of _your lord's orders_?" he guessed angrily.

The Doctor shook his head with a soft sigh. "This is the last wand in existence that can rip apart the universe," he explained quietly, "Of course, most humans aren't receptive enough to sense cracks in the fabric of reality, but that threat was very real."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What are you even talking about?" he demanded testily.

"You've seen it, Harry," the Doctor went on and looked from one of his students to the other, "and so have you, Hermione."

Harry frowned, but his friend actually caught on. "There was…a strange shift back in August, directly after the World Cup," Hermione uttered with wide eyes, "I thought I was falling for some time, but then I figured I must have dreamt it." Harry's head snapped in her direction, "…you too?"

"Everyone who has come in contact with the time vortex in some way experienced that shift," the Doctor offered as an explanation, "And it was enough for Dumbledore to understand I had been right the whole time."

"Right about _what_?" Hermione asked in confusion, "What _was_ that?"

"Well," the Doctor replied slowly and tilted his head, "basically, the universe has been rewritten. Or, well, magic at least."

Again, his students stared at him incredulously and he finally took the freedom of just sitting down with them. "If you're willing to listen," he began patiently, "I would like to tell you of a side to the Wizarding War that might never be disclosed officially."

* * *

_Doctor, September 25th, 17:00_

He had received several angry and disbelieving letters upon his official rehabilitation in the wizarding world, but this was something new.

"He trusted you most," the parchment read in tiny scribbles, "fear the consequences."

With a sigh, he dropped the letter on the _to worry about later_ stack. So someone was threatening him because of his alleged disloyalty to the Dark Lord. Boy, if only they knew.

Honestly, he had expected more feedback of that kind to come his way. Many Death Eaters were still free; they had either hidden or bought their freedom in exchange for other Death Eaters' names. But most of them were still loyal to a certain degree – the Doctor's most recent personal stalker, for example.

He briefly wondered whether to actually take the time to trace the letter's origin so he could give the Death Eater behind it a piece of his mind. But considering the enormous workload still awaiting him, he quickly dismissed the idea. If that particular Death Eater really decided to come after him one day, well, then he'd make sure to clarify his own definition of_ loyalty_ very thoroughly.

* * *

_Doctor, October 11th 1994, 20:00_

"So, what do you think?" the Doctor asked expectantly.

Severus' expression stayed just as blank as always as he inspected the gadget he had been handed rather carefully. To all appearances, he did not seem interested at all, but at the very least, he had not dismissed the Doctor right away. After all, the time lord _had_ just stomped into his friend's study unannounced.

Finally, Severus looked up and met the Doctor's eye. "If it really detects any living beings not from earth," he inquired slowly and handed the device back, "how come it does not react to your vicinity?"

It was only polite interest, but the Doctor could not help grinning either way. It was a small success. "Actually, it does if you press that button," he explained as he pointed at a rather hidden nub on the bottom of the gadget, "But since it would be useless if it kept beeping all the time, I figured adding myself as an exception would be wise."

After a curt nod, Severus added another thought, "Yet since its range is usually worse than mere eyesight, it really is only a means to distinguish actual Death Eaters and robotic ones?"

The Doctor tilted his head. Precise and concise. Severus had just, sharply if rather bluntly, summarized the flaws of the time lord's latest invention. No matter how much the Doctor would have liked to contradict, he had to admit defeat this once. "That in itself can help, though," he stated before pocketing the device again, "There's still far too many people out there committing crimes in the Dark Lord's name."

Again, their gazes met, but Severus did not voice anything on the matter. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was too early to discuss topics like that. With a soft sigh, the Doctor lazily looked around the room. "So, what have you been up to?" he asked conversationally.

As a heavy silence settled, it became more and more obvious that Severus was not in a particularly conversational mood. Or maybe he just was like that nowadays, the Doctor could not really tell. At the very least, the time lord recognized that he was not exactly welcome, so he reluctantly stood at last.

"I have been asked to restock the medical wing's supply on regenerative potions," Severus suddenly spoke and nodded towards a pile of crates in the corner of the room, "It is not an urgent task, yet rather...tedious, as I am sure you can imagine."

For a moment, the Doctor stood frozen. He had expected a lot, but not _this_. He had wanted Severus to warm up to him again, if only a little bit, but brewing potions like in the old days... now _this_ was a huge concession.

And so, the Doctor sat down again with a huge grin on his face. "I always _loved_ the smell of fresh Dittany."

* * *

_Doctor, October 20th and 27th 1994, 20:00_

"The Triwizard Tournament would have been a great chance for Harry to grow stronger," Dumbledore mused one evening.

"Stronger for _what_?" the Doctor replied with a frown, "The war is over, Albus. The Dark Lord is no threat to you. And I rather welcome father's decision on not letting children participate."

"And yet, the hope of the wizarding world rests on Harry Potter's shoulders," the headmaster replied smoothly, "danger will find its way to him in any case, especially since he still intends to become an auror."

The Doctor tilted his head with a soft sigh, "What do you suggest?"

The spark returned to Dumbledore's eyes at their gazes met. "How would you like to offer extracurricular lessons to interested students?"

The Doctor blinked in surprise.

A week later, he blinked again.

He had started the additional course on short notice and only announced it rather vaguely at the end of his lectures. Frankly, he had expected Harry and his friends to participate, but not many more. Most students already had their fair share of learning to do, it was a Saturday evening and lastly, well, he was still a bit of an ominous character to most wizards here.

So how come the classroom was so crowded that he could barely even walk to the front?

Maybe the children were not that afraid of him, after all - or maybe, using words like "adventure" and "practice" while advertising the course had done its own magic.

Oh well. He did not need to enter the classroom anyway. "Everyone, follow me!"

As he made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts with several dozens of students following him in noisy excitement, he wondered how well they would take it. If he had one grand advantage over the average wizard, it was not necessarily his time lord instincts or all the funny gadgets hidden in his pockets but his vast amount of experience.

As such, he had decided to just share some of it with his students and prepared the Room of Requirement to offer a convincing simulation. They would relive some of his more back-breaking adventures in the wizarding world under slightly less deadly circumstances, and if he managed doing this right, they would master these situations by the end of the term - with words rather than curses.

* * *

_Doctor, November 4th 1994, 19:00_

_Igor, it is so very nice to meet you again._

Ever since Hogwarts' guests from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived about a week ago, the halls had been filled with apprehensive whispers. The exchange between the Doctor and Karkaroff was already becoming somewhat of a legend – and it had not even taken place yet. It was obvious how the Bulgarian both feared and distrusted the Doctor. It had been Karkaroff who had betrayed the time lord in exchange for his own freedom, after all. Not only did he apprehend a revenge that might soon await him, he was also convinced of how the Doctor's allegiance still lay with the Dark Lord. The time lord, on the other hand, had lost twelve valuable years on Karkaroff's behalf, yet he no longer particularly minded. He had been incredibly unlucky to be found guilty by default, but the same would have happened if anybody else had framed him, and, truthfully, he could spontaneously name at least five further Death Eaters that would have done so in Karkaroff's stead.

And thus, since the Doctor was just as fond of a lengthy talk as Karkaroff was of his untimely end, neither bothered talking to the other as long as it could be avoided.

For that reason, the Doctor had sent the invitation directly to Viktor Krum rather than his escort; the first challenge of the tournament was approaching, and the time lord had successfully convinced the board to establish an official trip to the woods as a means of preparation. No child would get out of such a confrontation if it did not even know what to expect. So if the champions would already have to find out about the dragons, they might as well officially do so.

He had originally only intended to take the small crowd of students there that had decided to spend some of their free time on training actual conflict situations with him, but that new arrangement let him hit two birds with one stone.

"Well, aren't these beautiful!" the Doctor exclaimed as soon as he had caught sight of them – dragons. Three real, adult dragons, breathing fire in all their temperamental glory.

"Beautiful?" Ron repeated incredulously, "You mean frightening!"

"Frighteningly beautiful!" the Doctor agreed with a nod, "Dragons, ancient and powerful. They're easily annoyed, but they do enjoy being marvelled at. So feel free to…just do that." Some of the students sighed in exasperation, but the Doctor could not help staring at those wonderful beasts.

"We can get a bit closer, if ye want," he heard Hagrid talking to them, "The Hungarian Horntail is my person'l favourite." Slowly, the small crowd was drifting away, but the Doctor still could not tear his gaze off the dragon directly in front of him. It was even older than he was.

"Docteur," a voice suddenly spoke next to him, "eez Vikteur not commin'?" Shaken out of his reverie, he looked down into the eyes of Fleur Delaceur, the Beauxbaton champion. "Well, I sent him an invitation," he drawled thoughtfully, "but now that you mention it, we did start a bit earlier than announced. I'll quickly check whether he's wandering around."

Truthfully, he had not particularly minded avoiding the confrontation with Karkaroff a bit longer, but neglecting a simple detail like punctuality could well mean even more suspicions amongst the tournament's international contestants, and he didn't particularly need that, either.

As he strode back towards the school grounds, he suddenly heard footfalls approaching him. But...why were there so many of them?

"Expelliarmus!"

…_what?_

His wand was flung out of his grip just as a handful of hooded men appeared behind the trees.

_What?_

"Sheesh, do you have any idea how annoying it'll be to find it in these bushes?" he exclaimed, but deep down, he was _excited_. His eyes had widened in shock, yet his mind had outpaced his instincts.

Hogwarts was surrounded by anti-apparition wards. Any wizard entering by conventional means would be detected before getting to this area, which basically meant...that these Death Eater would, indeed, be _quite unconventional ones_.

Confirming his deduction, the extraterrestrial-detector he had built just for this occasion beeped happily in his pocket.

The Doctor would finally get the chance he had been giddily awaiting for four months already, and he would make sure to get some information this time around. "So we meet again," he greeted.

The Death Eater in front of him looked menacing enough, but he had to be one of the androids that had come to abduct humans.

"Have you come to tell me more about yourselves, now?" the Doctor inquired conversationally.

The alleged wizard was raising his wand convincingly enough, but he would not be able to cast a spell for he was merely bluffing, dressing up as a Death Eater for the convenience of having its true appearance hidden. Nonetheless, the Doctor played the part and raised his arms. He did not mean them any harm, after all.

"We've come to make you talk, actually," the Death Eater spoke, and the Doctor's eyes widened, "Stupor!"

He had no way of dodging the curse, but by then he had far more important things to worry about. _He recognized that voice._ Yet it wasn't so much the recognition that startled him but the implication of its owner's presence. Death Eaters had always despised anything muggle or technological. None of them would even consider acknowledging artificial life as worth allying with. So how come...they were working_…together?_

This was quite an interesting revelation, but even his sudden enthusiasm would not help him now. As he vaguely noted himself falling to the ground, hestruggled to stay conscious...and failed miserably. His attackers might have some rather unpleasant surprises in store for him, but at the very least _he would finally get some answers that way_.

_Part 1 - End_

* * *

...and this is where it will get _really interesting, _so stay tuned! :D

Please tell me what you think, what you do and don't like so far, and maybe even what you would like to read about in, err, more detail. Since this is still a work in progress in most parts, adding glimpses of, well, whatever is actually possible to a certain extent (e.g. my flat mate asked me for some Crouch family bonding moments)

Sooo, in any case, thanks a lot for reading, and see you soon!


	4. I am human

Notes: Here we go again! Many thanks to Kaitie85386 and ksklus (We'll get back to the classroom in 1..2 chapters!) for their great reviews, and also to anyone who's favourited or followed this story! It's been some exhausting weeks, and it really brightened my day whenever I discovered a fanfic related message in my inbox :]

So, as for today: some plot at last - and a guest appearance 8'D Enjoy!

**Relativity, Part 2: Delusions**

1. "I am human."

* * *

_Barty Jr./Doctor, November 5, 1994, 14:00_

His eyes snapped open as a cold, bitter liquid ran down his throat.

Veritaserum.

_Oh no._

He was not naïve enough to hope it would not work on him; he had already tried that many years ago. Luckily, he had gotten out of that particular experience with, quite literally, nothing more than a black eye, but this time, he was facing something much more menacing than an overly affectionate schoolgirl that had snuck the wrong potion in his drink. If his captors asked the right questions, he would unwillingly give them the knowledge to rule the universe. He could not risk doing that, he would not –

He choked. It was still there.

The Veritaserum.

He tried spitting the potion out, but a hand forcefully yanked his jaw further up. He glared at the masked man in front of him. A Death Eater, and a vaguely familiar one at that.

A hand tightened around his throat, and he was forced to gulp at last. His breath hitched, and he desperately fought the sudden inattentiveness coming over him. He had been careless enough to ignore the threats and to get himself caught, and now it was too late. The potion was beginning to work.

"Who are you?" the Death Eater demanded.

He forced his mouth shut, and yet he replied without choosing to, "Bartemius Crouch." Strange.

Out of all the questions to be asked, he had feared that one the most, but…why? They had known his name for a long time, for he had fought alongside the Dark Lord once, so very long ago.

The hand finally released his throat – but only to slap him a moment later. "I am talking about your real name," the wizard hissed.

Confusing. So both of them had expected something unexpected to come of this question? What else could he possibly be answering? His head rolled to the side and he dared grinning at his captor, "Bartemius Crouch _Junior_."

They had pursued the same goal back then, but things were different now. His throbbing forearm helpfully reminded him that they were out for revenge, but what new _knowledge_ could they possibly want? Did they truly expect him to have sensitive information on Dumbledore?

The Death Eater huffed indignantly, but seemed to accept his answer. There was little else he could do, really, given the fact his victim was forced to tell the truth anyway. Thus, he continued with the next question, "How did you escape Azkaban?"

Barty arched an eyebrow. "Really, don't you read the newspaper?" he drawled with a frown, "I was declared dead." Another unnecessary question, another easy answer – but maybe that was exactly what these inquiries were about. _Put him at ease to make him more compliant._

"My life signs were faint but undetected, and, really, the Daily Prophet covered it _all_ quite truthfully." Understandably, most people had probably not expected him to disclose the actual truth, but his honesty back then was helping him greatly now.

"If you recovered just to betray our lord," the Death Eater spoke, venom back in his voice, "you should have stayed dead in the first place."

Those words hit a sore nerve, and Barty found himself agitated enough to retort, "Whoever you are, you are not one to talk. When he fell, you hid in the shadows. What is it that you want from me?" His voice rose ever so steadily without him wanting it to. "What good is this half-hearted revenge," he ground out and barely even registered the throbbing pain in his forearm, "if you could spend your time on something useful?"

A short, foreboding silence settled and he felt a hand on his throat again. "The Dark Lord trusted you the most," the Death Eater hissed icily, "Did you even look for him? Have you _ever_ been loyal to him?"

Barty stared back in defiance, and he would not have lied even if he had been able to, "I have always been."

With an angry huff, the Death Eater stepped back, wand drawn. He had probably been about to punish his captive, but having used the Veritaserum made him reconsider. "Have you found him?" he asked at last, his voice hesitant and even…hopeful.

A deep breath and a silent tear accompanied the undeniable truth. "The Dark Lord is dead," Barty breathed, and…he finally got an idea of what knowledge he had been intending to hide.

* * *

_Jack, November 5, 1994, 18:00_

At one point in time, he had been travelling the universe.  
At one point in time, he had spent his days fighting for the greater cause.  
At one point in time, he had been able to choose death to escape torture.

Unfortunately, he had broken his vessel, had gotten himself captivated during an investigation and was just as immortal as he had been for more than a hundred years.

As he watched the dark, damp cobblestones in front of his face to concentrate on anything but the horrible pain his body kept helpfully reminding him of, Captain Jack Harkness was not a happy man. With a loud grunt, he pushed himself off the dirty ground of a cell he had grown far too familiar with and tried in vain to at least find a less painful position. He had no way of telling how much time had passed since they had ended up killing him again. As a matter of fact, he could not even guess how much time he had already spent in that dreadful manor to begin with.

As always he had been searching for the Doctor, and as always he had been asking the right questions at just the wrong place. They looked like a bad cliché and claimed to be wizards, so naturally witnessing his immortality had intrigued them enough to just abduct him on the spot. He had been careless.

And he had merely come there to ask them a simple question.

With a huff, he straightened himself and gratefully noted both his senses and his muscles cooperating at last. It was then that he slowly recognized something unexpected.

His cell was dark, damp and unwelcoming, but more importantly, it had been his own since he had ended up in it.

But the ragged breaths he was hearing were not his own.

He had dreamt of whispers and screams, and as his eyes made out another silhouette in the far corner of the room, he understood how he was no longer the only unlucky soul trapped in this mess. "Welcome to hell," he whispered bitterly, perfectly aware of how the stranger was most likely in no condition to even hear him.

Testing his muscles once again, he carefully shuffled closer to his new cell mate. "Hey pal," he tried again, "can you hear me?"

As expected, the stranger showed no reaction. Perched against the wall with his arms resting on his knees, he stared ahead through glazed eyes. "What did they do to you, eh?" Jack muttered as he cautiously reached out to examine the other man's left forearm, which was bleeding profusely. He winced in sympathy when he realized a large patch of skin had been ripped off. The major arteries seemed to still be intact, but the stranger was losing too much blood in any case. "We gotta bandage this somehow," Jack whispered and looked back at his cell mate's face with a soft smile – and gasped.

Considering his earlier unresponsiveness, he had not expected the man to stare back at him in horror… but it came as no surprise, either. "Good morning, sunshine," grinned slyly and only vaguely noticed the stranger's hand freeing itself from his grip. He was hypnotized.

Those eyes were tired, old and so very deep, and…

The man was staring at him without seeing him at all. "Is this…what they did to you?" he asked Jack in a quiet, raspy voice, "You look horrible."

The immortal tilted his head with a playful smile, "Don't worry, I'll look more than acceptable once I get to shower." However, his wink was completely lost on the other man whose gaze had wandered off to something on Jack's shoulder. Suddenly, he felt shaky fingers touching that spot and flinched away in pain. Was this how he had died last time? Had the stranger seen it? Did he _know_?

Just as Jack had recoiled, the stranger had pulled back his hand and blinked very slowly. "You're not him," he drawled and finally met the captain's eyes in actual awareness, "You look like him but you're not."

Once more, Jack was speechless for a moment. He was incredibly relieved to find the man recovering so quickly, but…now that they were seeing him, those eyes looked even older.

"Oh, I might not be _him_, but I'm also worth it," he replied with a smirk and extended his hand, "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

The stranger cringed as his body eventually reminded him of its poor condition, but shook Jack's hand nonetheless. "Barty Crouch Junior," he announced with a deep frown and tilted his head, "We must get you out of here."

* * *

_Barty Jr./Doctor, November 5, 1994, 19:00_

_- Dream? -_

_No assault, no Death Eaters, nothing out of the ordinary at all._

_He was walking around the classroom, rambling about anything worth knowing just like he usually did, and just like any other day, his students were intimidated just enough to actually bother listening._

_Apparently, he had never been kidnapped in the first place. Had he imagined it all?_

_"Now, what do you know about the Unforgivable Curses?" he asked the class, and he briefly wondered why he was addressing that particular topic – hadn't he already covered it some weeks ago?_

_"Raise your hand if you can name one," he went on and was slightly surprised not to see a single volunteer, "No one? Anyone?" He knew for a fact that several of his students had already witnessed at least one of these curses, and he remembered._

_He was sure by then – he was repeating himself, at least to some extent, for he had already given that lecture, covering those curses quite extensively. But strangely enough, his students didn't seem to notice, let alone remember. They looked just as unsettled as last time, if not even more so._

_With a sigh, he raised a flask to his lips and only consciously noticed doing so when he could already taste the bitter liquid running down his throat._

_Polyjuice potion._

Of course.

_Many things had struck him as odd somehow, and now he knew what. He was shorter, he was limping, and it was not his own voice he was talking in. Without consciously deciding to do so, he had taken on somebody else's appearance._

_…but why?_

_- _Reality?_ -_

His consciousness faded away briefly, and he suddenly realized that he must have been dreaming all along. He was not teaching – as a matter of fact, he was not even at Hogwarts, and, well, he felt horrible.

Ever so slowly, the memories of the last few hours returned to him.

The torture had taken its toll on him.

Pain and sadness, frustration and bitterness. His arm was throbbing, but so was his head. Both the Veritaserum and the Cruciatus Curse afterwards had left his mind a mess, and for a moment he could not even remember his own name.

Vaguely familiar golden swirls blurred in and out of his vision, yet he knew that could not be. Eternal and eternally breath-taking, _the Vortex. _

Ever since he could remember, he had only seen it in such a shape once. Back then, it had been bound to the soul of a brilliant man and precious friend.

_Several golden swirls, originating somewhere far beyond the horizon, meeting all in one shape before his very eyes. Dark-clad, pale and snake-like. The Dark Lord was a man to be both feared and admired._

It felt like eternities had passed since they had worked together on a feasible way to keep reality from collapsing.

"_You can get to the origin._"

Back then, he had quite often caught himself staring at those golden swirls for several minutes at a time. Back then, their presence had often managed assuring him. But…why was he seeing them now?

_"Know your place, just as I know mine."_

He had witnessed undeniable proof of the Dark Lord's passing. Not even Horcruxes had been able to save him; his death was final this time.

And it had broken Barty's heart.

_"What will become of the world if we both die before saving it?"_

He had lost him, but at least that way, his friend was no longer endangered by a world that did not understand him. That single, wonderful wizard had decided to become a scapegoat for the greater good decades before Barty had even come to Wizarding Britain.

_"If I need to kill all wizards to save reality or only a select few, I'll gladly choose the smaller crowd." _

Many had suspected the Dark Lord to be still alive, but only few had dared looking for him like Barty had. But what he had found could no longer be recovered.

Not by conventional means. Not by favourable means.

If anybody else had found the Dark Lord's remains, though, they might have tried to save him. They might have risked destroying everything that made him _him_ in the desperate attempt to recover _something_ from his ashes.

As he kept staring at the traces of the Vortex in front of his very eyes, the wizard finally allowed himself to see how much it differed from what he had expected. These swirls were not loosely connecting one piece of a soul to another – all of them were converging in front of his very eyes.

They were wrong.

And he was afraid.

_"Is this what they did to you?"_

But…no.

No.

This was not _him_, but somebody else. Somebody _new_.

The Dark Lord and the man introducing himself as Jack Harkness – they were similar to his eyes, but only because he rarely ever got to meet people _like them_ – people that had convinced time and space to let them survive death. He could see ominous golden swirls in both of them. In truth, however, they could barely be more different, and Barty found himself both relieved and disappointed at that realization. "Hey, if you keep zoning out on me like that," he heard Jack joking, "I will get jealous of that other man, you know."

With a blink, Barty met the stranger's eyes and he could hold back his confusion no longer. "How can you exist?" he asked blatantly, "What force can create something like you?"

Jack looked hurt for a moment but quickly hid that emotion beneath a half-hearted smile. "That's what I'm trying to find out," he admitted with a shrug, "I used to travel with a friend of mine. On one of our…adventures, I got myself killed and woke up to find him gone and myself in, well, this condition."

Barty's gaze softened. He had gotten himself in a bit of a situation, but Jack had fared far worse. The man was caught in a bad situation _for all eternity,_ and he did not even know why…but there were people after his secret in any case. And Barty most certainly did not need any rampant Death Eaters unveiling the secret to immortality.

"Well then, Captain Jack Harkness," he announced, got up and extended his hand, "It is time for us to leave."

The immortal blinked back in confusion, but did not resist getting pulled to his feet. "I hate to disappoint you, but I already tried everything that can be done," he stated as he watched his cellmate inspecting the lock on the door, "I've been here for quite a while."

"Some sort of gadget would be nice," Barty agreed thoughtfully. He rummaged through his trousers' pockets, but found absolutely nothing there. So his captors _had_ done their homework. "You don't happen to have found a wand somewhere during that time, do you?" he inquired rather sheepishly, perfectly aware of the odds, but asking wouldn't hurt.

"A wand?" the captain drawled cautiously and arched an eyebrow, "So you _are_ one of them."

Barty frowned. "A wizard, yes," he replied matter-of-factly and lifted his bloodied left hand with a pained grimace, "A follower of the Dark Lord…no longer."

Jack's face darkened. "I told you my story, now you tell me yours," he demanded, crossing his arms in front of him as he leant against the wall.

For a moment, their eyes met. Apparently, the captain barely knew anything about the wizarding world, so…how to explain this? "Well, you see," Barty drawled and resumed fiddling with the lock as he spoke on, "people like ignoring anything unfavourable as long as possible. And so sometimes, you end up as the only one who _cares_." His fingernail protested, and he crouched down to fiddle with his shoes. "And sometimes, you find help in the unlikeliest places. The former leader of our captors was a brilliant man, and we worked together for quite a while for a cause most of his followers wouldn't understand." With a bit of luck, his shoelace would stand the strain. Getting up once more, he set to connecting it to the lock. "He's no longer alive, though," he finished quietly, "I went on with my life, but some of his remaining followers took it as a breach of trust." The precision work left him slightly lightheaded, and he sat down for a moment. "Of course there's much more detail to it," he added with a tired smile, "but that's all you're getting for now."

Barty had never spoken ill of the Dark Lord, and he never would. All those years ago, they had worked together and he had never stopped admiring the other wizard. Nonetheless he had, in a way, betrayed his friend by accepting Dumbledore's offer to get his name cleared in order to teach at Hogwarts.

_Of course_ the remaining Death Eaters would retaliate eventually. As a matter of fact, he had expected such an assault much earlier, but that was just the problem: since nothing had happened for several months, he had let his guard down.

And he had gotten himself captured.

He had not expected to survive, but of course most of the old-fashioned Death Eaters would still prefer methods of torture to _merciful_ immediate murder.

They had peeled the Dark Mark off his forearm, and they had done so excruciatingly slowly.

He heard a noise next to his ear, and he realized it was actually a voice. "…look pale."

A sharp pain shot through his arm, and he watched indignantly as his cellmate did his best to finally bandage the open wound on his forearm. Barty had tried blocking out the pain, but he realized his slight dizziness was most likely caused by the amount of blood he had already lost.

_How thoughtful of him._ The bandaging was nearly finished, but Jack's gaze rested on his cellmate's face as if he was expecting an answer. "What were you saying?" Barty asked.

Jack frowned for a moment, yet kept quiet. "You really think shoelace will suffice?" he asked after a while, "I'll try that while you rest." A sly grin crept up his face as he added, "I'd really like the colour to return to that pretty face of yours, you know."

"Oh, _don't start_."

* * *

Two shoelaces, several fingernails and a paper cut later, both men sat brooding on the floor once more. "Looks like we'll have to try the classic approach after all," Jack suggested, "You play dead, I'll call for help and we'll overpower whoever's coming."

"That might even work," Barty pondered, "But the range of wands is quite a problem. If there's more than one guard coming, we won't stand much of a chance, not with the cell exposed like this."

With an unhappy sigh, Jack leant back. "Are you sure you can't do some of your fancy magic without a wand?" he asked.

Barty tilted his head. "That's not how magic works," he explained, "I can formulate the command, but I need a sort of conductor to make it take effect."

"And that needs to be a wand?" Jack drawled thoughtfully, "What are they anyway? Some kind of high-tech? Or could you just use anything containing a certain substance, like a pebble or…"

Just in that moment, quite a grand, knotted golden swirl wobbled into Barty's field of vision, and his eyes widened. "…or you," he added.

Jack blinked, and their gazes met. "I beg your pardon?"

"Originally, magic was caused by, well, a discontinuity in time and space," Barty explained, struggling ever so slightly with the right way to phrase it, "It's not the same as your _condition_, as you call it, but we might still be able to utilize your connection to the vortex one way or the other."

For a whole minute, Jack stared in disbelief. "My connection to the vortex?" he drawled, lost.

Barty simply nodded. "You don't feel it at all?" he asked gently and traced a random golden swirl with his finger for demonstration, "Just there, that's one string of events among many, converging towards _you_."

Jack's stare indicated at least some comprehension, but no _understanding_. "So what do you need me to do?" he asked slowly, watching the wizard carefully.

"Don't think about anything," Barty explained with a thoughtful expression, "I'll channel a spell through you, and if we're very lucky, we can get out of here. But it will most likely be very unpleasant."

Both doubtful and confused, Jack still couldn't help nodding, "Never mind that, I'm ready whenever you are," he spoke with a shrug and grinned, "Acting without thinking, I can do that just fine."

Barty smiled back weakly as he got up to crouch next to Jack. "Alright," he announced and gently touched the immortal's temples, "clear your mind."

In spite of his intention, he caught glimpses of the other man's life. Other planets, other times – he had seen a lot. Much of it felt suspiciously _familiar_, and yet…

Focus.

Finally, Barty saw the cell's lock through Jack's eyes, and he could _feel_ the energy and he knew in that moment that he could do it. _"Alohomora."_

The door burst open.

Their minds disconnected immediately.

Breathing heavily, Barty fell back. Jack, however, didn't move at all.

"Jack?" the wizard asked in worry, struggling back to his feet to get a better look at his fellow escapee, "Are you alright?" Just as he had rounded him, the captain returned to wakefulness, blinking rapidly. "Oh, I've never been better," he announced and a wide grin spread on his features as he bounced to his feet, "Let's run, _Doctor_."

Their eyes locked for a long moment, and Barty could not help frowning.

No – it was _the Doctor_ furrowing his brows.

That title, that _name_, sounded right for some reason, and much more _adequate_ than Bartemius Crouch at that. It was true, wasn't it? He was not just a doctor, he was _the Doctor_.

How could he ever have forgotten that?

And how could Jack, a complete stranger, know about his true identity? The Doctor opened his mouth to address that particular matter when hurried footfalls echoed through the corridor, effectively destroying their moment.

Unsurprisingly, someone had heard the lock exploding after all.

The Doctor finally agreed with a nod and grabbed Jack's hand, pulling the man along as he dashed out of the cell and away from imminent doom, "Yes, let's run."

* * *

_Doctor, November 5th, 1994, 19:30_

They had escaped the basement, but they were still in the building. Getting out was another problem, but well, they were working on it.

"I still don't see how these Death Eaters want to make the world a better place with terror," Jack frowned as he inspected the lock at the door in front of him.

"If you really want to, you can convince yourself to wholeheartedly believe anything," the Doctor replied offhandedly as he checked the window, "As shrewd as it sounds, isn't just that the beauty of the human mind?"

Jack kept watching their surroundings attentively, but he couldn't help glancing at his fellow escapee. "Quite the optimist, aren't we?" he commented with a sly smirk as he followed the other man out of the window.

"Naturally," the Doctor grinned and helped Jack down the crates conveniently placed under the windowsill. Someone was shouting not very far away; their followers would catch up to them very soon.

But luckily, there was an ultimate solution to situations like these, and so, across the lawn and into the forest, they ran and ran and _ran_. Thankfully their imprisoners were, at the very least, not flexible enough to employ faster means in their pursuit.

Maybe, probably, the two of them would make it to the next town, or at the very least out of those pesky anti-apparition wards. The Doctor might have lost his wand, but now he had _Jack_.

And they would keep running, if only to get that impossible man out of danger. The Doctor did not know the reason for his comrade's immortality, but considering he could spontaneously think of at least a handful of ways to utilize it for some ulterior motive, he was sure there were others who might actually _try_.

* * *

_Jack, November 5th, 1994, 20:30_

He could not believe it. Out of sheer luck, and without even realizing it at first, he had run into the very person he had been searching for over a hundred years.

The Doctor.

Granted, he had not recognized him at first. The time lord had changed, both in looks and demeanour. But could you even call it a change? Considering the Doctor had not recognized Jack at all, he had most likely not met him yet in his timeline. Somehow, Jack had stumbled across a younger version of his friend, but it did not matter whether he was remembered or not. He had found him.

And best of it all, they were running again. Together. "Haven't done this in quite a while," Jack laughed and earned himself a frown from his companion. "Oh come on," he insisted playfully, "You love the adrenaline just as much."

It took the Doctor's frown quite a while to melt away. "Well, I can't deny that," the time lord drawled and grinned back at last, "But don't tell anyone."

They shared a smile before they returned their respective attention to their surroundings – they were out of immediate danger, but that did not mean they were not being followed.

Nonetheless, there was no need to keep quiet all the while. So finally, the Doctor dared addressing his companion, "Jack."

Said companion glanced back curiously, "Doctor."

Slightly bemused, the time lord frowned. "How do you know that name?" he enquired in a bizarrely guarded fashion.

Strange, something was definitely strange. Admittedly, the time lord had not introduced himself with that name, but wasn't he used to being famous in some circles? Also, why would he feel the need to use an alias in the first place?

Jack hesitated for a moment, but finally laughed it off. The Doctor did not know him yet, so maybe he just had to prove that they would be acquaintances sometime in his future. "You can see _what I am, _you're telepathic and I felt two hearts beating in that chest of yours," he explained as if it was obvious, "Kind of gave it away, seeing you're the last and all." With a sympathetic smile, he turned back to watch the alley. He had heard a silent crack, but maybe he had just imagined it. And in any case, it certainly did not seem important enough for him to stop talking. "So, which regeneration are you on?" he enquired as he squinted at a shadow at the far end of the dark alley, "And what's up with you settling down, anyway? Or is this some kind of undercover mission?" A moment later, he was pretty sure the shadow was just a lamp post, and also he was pretty sure the Doctor should have answered by then. But when he turned around to prompt a response, he found his friend staring back at him blankly.

_"What are you talking about?"_

* * *

_Doctor, November 5th, 1994, 20:39_

It was a cold night.

The temperatures had not dropped below the freezing point, but the upcoming winter was introducing its chilly atmosphere ever so gradually.

Not a single star could be seen through the clouds hanging in the sky, but then, for just a moment, the veil split enough for the moon to light one particular backyard in the outskirts of Sheffield.

Jack and the Doctor had just escaped a nightmare. Or hadn't they? Their pursuers seemed to have lost track of them. Even so, they had no time to rest as another urgent matter had arisen – whatever Jack was babbling about, the Doctor _did not even understand the questions_. What was going on?

But, the immortal had mentioned enough to get him thinking. The Doctor had two hearts and a vision of timelines; now that he thought about it, he had never truly wondered about that. Slowly, hesitantly, he closed his eyes and took a moment to listen to his own heartbeat.

_Dun-dun-dun-dun. Dun-dun-dun-dun. Dun-dun-dun-dun._

"Is that unusual?" he wondered quietly and opened his eyes again, only to find Jack watching him in bemusement. "Is what unusual?" the captain replied slowly, "I mean, you can do whatever you want. I just never saw it coming that you'd try blending in with humans, no matter how much you like us."

_Us._

Clearly, Jack was not answering the question asked, but he was giving the right information anyway.

Blending in.

Of course.

The Doctor was not being himself, he was _blending in with humans_.

"That's right," he whispered, his gaze trailing off as his mind re-evaluated what he had taken for granted, "I'm not human."

Two hearts. Telepathy. Regenerations. _Time lord._

"Of course you're not," Jack spoke with a frown, "…are you sure you are alright?"

At that, the Doctor looked back at his friend sharply. He was not a wizard, he was not even human. He remembered now how he had stranded in 1973 and adapted, but…what he had considered his life a minute ago had just turned out to be a…well, _what_ exactly, anyway? A lie, a play, a _field trip on the slow path_? Worse yet, his mind was playing tricks on him, and he was not quite sure how to take that.

The real question was not whether he was alright, but…_ how could he have forgotten?_

"Jack, listen, this is important," the Doctor stated and grabbed his friend's shoulders, "What have I told you that doesn't make sense?"

The time lord's sudden change of demeanour caught Jack off guard, and he blinked back like a deer caught in the headlights, "What?"

"I expected to be human even though I am not," the Doctor urged, his voice trembling, "Sometime during my captivity, I must have corrupted my own memories."

_- Part 2.1 End -_

* * *

_Notes:_ So here we are, with what the summary kind of gave away already: in the end, fancy words like _truth_ or _reality_ are really just...relative to your own point of view. From here onwards, the Doctor will have to reevaluate his own knowledge for once. And, well, this will allow for some really interesting developments, so stay tuned :B

Thank you for reading this far, and as always, I'll be really happy about reviews :o)


	5. I am alright

...and since it's been a while again, the last bit of the previous chapter actually summarizes it quite nicely:

_"I expected to be human even though I am not," the Doctor urged, his voice trembling, "Sometime during my captivity, I must have corrupted my own memories."_

* * *

Thanks a lot to anyone who's been giving me some kind of feedback - and of course, special thanks to denise3 for reviewing!

So, well, the Doctor does remember Jack - kind of. Let's say, he'll gradually recover. There's some curious reasons behind his condition, but for today, he'll be grateful enough to just puzzle things together again, for he is really dealing with three alternate time lines by this point: the original plot, the current one and, well, the Daily Prophet.

So for now, let's find out about something that did not make sense in the first place, shall we?

* * *

**Relativity, Part 2: Delusions**

2. "I am alright."

* * *

_Cornelia, November 5th 1994, 19:00_

For the fifth time that day, she opened the door to her son's room in the feeble hope of finding him there. For the fifth time that day, she was disappointed anew.

His bed was empty, and the chairs stood abandoned. Forlornly, she strode towards the desk where books and notes lay scattered as if he had only just left. Back then, so many years ago, she had often found him sitting there, reading books or scribbling down his thoughts on all those fascinating things she would often hear him talking about, but she had never understood all too much.

He still sometimes worked on that desk, even now. The note on the very top of the stack, showing a quickly scribbled yet highly complicated circuit, had been written less than a month ago. The Doctor might be teaching at Hogwarts, but he still made sure to visit her at least every other weekend.

If he was not missing, that is.

A plop echoed through the house, and she hurried down the stairs to meet her husband in quite an agitated state. "Have you found him?" she asked hopefully, but she feared his answer would be the same it had been the day before.

He regarded her for a moment before phrasing an answer. "No, we haven't," he stated and pulled something out of his pocket, "but we found this." He was holding a wand, eleven inches, oak, unicorn hair. By specifications or design, it was nothing special at all.

But it was her son's wand.

"Karkaroff finally spoke, but his words do not mean much," Bartemius explained quietly, "He claims to have seen a group of Death Eaters wandering through the forest. We found Barty's wand close to the site he described. At the very least, that should settle the questions on his integrity."

Cornelia stared at the wand for another moment and finally reached for it with shaky hands. She could still remember the day they had bought it. The Doctor, by all appearances a mere eleven year old thanks to a strange coincidence, had not officially been her son yet, but she had already grown quite fond of him. He had done her a favour in staying, and she liked to think that he had started enjoying the slow path, too. Back then, as he was experiencing a second childhood while exploring a magical world that was entirely new to him, he had almost seemed…content. They had spent many afternoons talking about everything and nothing at all, but once he had entered Hogwarts, they had slowly grown apart.

He still told her much, but a lot was left unsaid as well. Back then, she had known how his research on magic had been frustrating him more and more, but she had not quite possessed enough understanding to be of any help at all. Suddenly, though, his overall mood had started brightening again.

"You know, I have this really brilliant friend. He's a great help," he had explained one evening back in 1979, "but also a bit…difficult and, well, easily misunderstood." He had not told her much about _Tom_ – just enough to keep her informed but not quite enough for her to _understand_ before it was too late.

He had intended not to get involved, but had ended up doing just that. It broke her heart thinking back to that horrible moment when their family had shattered.

By what felt like a miracle and under very curious circumstances, they had reunited at last. But just when the future had finally started brightening, the Doctor's involvement with the Dark Lord had come back to haunt him once more.

If he had been sought out by Death Eaters and had accompanied them without his wand, that could only mean one thing.

_Retaliation._

"Back when we first met him," Cornelia pondered, her gaze wandering from the wand in her hand to her husband, "when I, too, was abducted by Death Eaters, wasn't it my wand that helped you find me?"

Bartemius' eyes widened, but he averted them quickly. "Has he told you how to do that?" he enquired.

_Yes, he has_, she slowly remembered, but she would need his sonic screwdriver to accomplish that, and hopefully her son would still have it on him. For a long moment she kept staring at his wand as if it held any answers.

She knew he had manipulated it to fit his needs, at least to some extent. Hadn't he once mentioned some sort of emergency setting? She almost dropped the wand as it dawned upon her. The emergency setting he had told her about didn't concern his wand – but his _time machine_.

And quite by chance, she still had a key to it attached to her necklace.

She had met a small boy in 1973 and made a promise with him. If she recovered his spaceship, he would keep her company. She had often regretted failing him in that respect, but maybe, just maybe, she could still keep that promise after all.

* * *

_Doctor, November 5th 1994, 21:02_

It was a cold night in Sheffield, but Jack stood frozen for an entirely different reason. "What do you mean?" he asked uncertainly, "How can you just change your memories? Why _would_ you?"

Eyeing his friend tiredly, the Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "I wonder," he replied flatly and looked at the stars, "I'm rather prone to the serum wizards use in questionings - come to think of it, I'm rather prone to most of their psychological spells..." He trailed off, frowning. A moment and a blink later, however, his attention returned to the confusingly familiar stranger. "Anyway, I obviously wanted to hide something from them, but as to what..." He sighed. "I can't really tell."

Crossing his arms, Jack leant against the fence. "I take it that means nothing's come back yet?" he pondered with a frown.

The Doctor looked at his friend with a thoughtful expression. It was a good question, he decided. Did he remember? "Bits and pieces," he replied slowly. And it was true...ever so gradually, random facts and memories returned to him, but so far, they were more like single pieces of a giant puzzle. Obviously, he had somehow understood that he was far from human, but beyond that...he still lacked the reason he would ever deem such measures necessary in the first place. At least he could deduce one thing: whatever had made him change his mind – quite literally – had not left him enough time to do it properly.

If he was unlucky enough, he might never figure out the truth now.

With another sigh, he looked up at the stars – and noticed something strange. Even if his memories might not be cooperating right then, his eyes were.

And amidst a brilliant sky he could not make out a single Death Eater chasing after them.

There should have been at least five by now, but he heard noises in the far distance, which eventually could only mean...

He had neglected another crucial detail.

There were not being pursued by a group of wizards, but by the androids that had joined them.

His eyes widened.

Finding out about those curious attackers had been his sole reason for staying in the first place, hadn't it? So...how could he have forgotten about them?

With another deep breath and new-found determination, he stared his friend in the eye. "We must confront them," he stated bluntly and turned on his heels.

Jack, however, froze. "What?" he replied indignantly, "We're escaping and you just...walk back into the lions den?"

Blinking slowly, the Doctor realized that his own state of confusion did not make this any easier on his...friend?...who had, if those blurry memories in the back of his mind were any indication, most likely no experience with magic, and as such even less information on their current situation. "The group that kidnapped us," he began, "well, not all of them are human." Frowning once again, he wondered how to phrase his thoughts. "The Death Eaters themselves have been scattered many years ago. Only a few are left, hiding," he explained, "but now there's a new party involved. Someone joined them, someone non-human with an apparent need of magic, or wizards at least."

Nodding slowly, Jack took in the information rather gratefully. "Really, I thought all of them looked like aliens," he joked, "bad fashion sense, seriously."

The feeble attempt at lifting the mood was entirely lost on the Doctor. "I've been searching them for some months now," he went on explaining, more indignantly this time, "I need to find out what they're after, and I doubt another chance like this will come up any time soon."

Their eyes locked for a brief moment before the time lord set off towards the direction they had come from.

Jack, however, did not move an inch. "This is how you faced them last time, is it?" he prompted quietly, his voice cutting the silence like a knife, "You walked up to them and simply asked. It's a good and honest way of solving problems, mind you, but the thing is..." He sighed deeply, "It's exactly how I got here, too, and I don't see a reason why trying again might work out this time."

Finally, the Doctor halted in his steps. Jack had a good point, he had to give him that.

"If anything, we're even worse off," the immortal added, "we've got no equipment at all and..." He was obviously trying to find a friendly way of mentioning the Doctor's...condition, but he did not get a chance to do so anyway - just in that moment, yell rang through the air, its origin located far too close for comfort. Both men jumped back into action. No matter what they did, they had to do it soon and, for better or for worse, the Doctor had to admit Jack's suggestion _was_ the more reasonable one.

"We've really got to leave right now," the immortal repeated urgently and actually grabbed the Doctor's hand this time, "Is the Tardis anywhere close?"

He had been ready to start running again, but that question, as simply as it was, actually caught the time lord off guard. He stared at Jack, realizing once again that he must have met the man before. At the very least, the immortal seemed to know him quite well indeed, or, well, enough to mention words as important as this one.

Tardis…it _was_ an important word, wasn't it? Maybe the most important one of them all. He kept frowning at Jack, who returned his gaze with a small sympathetic smile, but he realized rather gratefully that he would not need any further explanations to gather this particular memory._  
_

_The Tardis._

_Of course._

His every so faithful companion. He had been without her for such a long time, stranded in the wizarding world. But she had returned to him at last, hadn't she? She stood waiting for him at Hogwarts, yet even though he had parked her there because he had always anticipated an emergency to come up, she would be no use to them now, not with them standing, well, where exactly were they anyway? Jack's arguments had been good enough to make him reconsider escaping, but…how?

The noises around them grew louder at an alarming rate, so what else was left for them to do?

He had to think – quickly, and for some reason, something clicked in his mind.

"The anti-apparition wards are gone," the Doctor pointed out with wide eyes and stared at Jack, "The Tardis is nowhere near us, but I could try apparating us to safety…with your help." It was their only palpable option, but that did not mean he would have to like it. If something as simple as opening the cell magically had basically singed their eyebrows earlier, there was no telling what advanced magic would become if channelled through the far too mighty source of his friend's immortality.

Jack grimaced slightly, but closed his eyes in quite agreement.

The Doctor took a deep breath. This was too risky, but the only option left. If only he was not as confused right then. If only he had been more cautious to begin with. If only the beautiful sound of the universe was more than just a memory resonating through his imagination just then…

He blinked, and so did Jack.

It was real.

For some reason, the Tardis, in all her blue glory, was materializing right in front of them. Before either of them could react, its door was already flung open and revealed a short, middle-aged witch with a drawn wand and a determined expression. As soon as she caught sight of the Doctor's baffled face, though, her own demeanour softened. "What are you waiting for?" she greeted him and extended her hand, "get in, quickly!"

Finally, the Doctor dared grinning back. "Cornelia Crouch," he exclaimed as he stepped forward to catch her in a hug, "you are a star!"

* * *

He dashed towards the console, but he could not convince himself to activate the engine.

His two passengers, whom he had only briefly introduced upon entering the Tardis, were talking agitatedly, but he could barely hear them at all.

He had agreed with Jack earlier, but could he really miss a chance like this?

Something slammed against the doors, and he suddenly realized how the voices inside the control room had also died down. Looking up with a blink, the Doctor saw Cornelia watching him in worry whereas Jack was approaching him in long, deliberate strides. "We know the location of their base," the immortal explained as he came to a halt next to his friend, "furthermore, we might gain vital information by simply reviewing our experiences." The Doctor frowned, yet he did not stop Jack from pulling the lever his own hand had been hovering over. The sound of the universe rang through the room once again just as the immortal summarized his opinion, "In any case, I won't let you face the enemy in that condition."

Breathing deeply, the Doctor leant heavily onto the console to clear his thoughts. This was nerve-wrecking. If he couldn't trust his recollection, could he trust his instincts? Was it, in the end, even better to let Jack decide on this? He would have to sort his own mind before progressing any further, so maybe…the time he had just been given was everything he needed.

A hand on his own startled him out of his reverie. Without him even noticing, Cornelia had walked up to him, clearly alerted. Her worried gaze rested on his haphazardly bandaged left forearm for a long moment before wandering up to meet his eyes. "What condition is he speaking of?" she asked quietly, "What did they do to you?"

* * *

_Albus, November 5th, 1994, 23:10_

Truthfully spoken, he could not decide whether to welcome the good news or to lament the bad ones.

He had mobilized the entire Order to seek his teaching staff's latest addition. Yet surprisingly, it had been his adoptive mother who had recovered him at last, worse for wear but safe and sound.

Both the Doctor's abduction and his current condition would have some worrisome consequences, but for now, the headmaster was content enough to know his – dare he say? - friend back within the safe walls of Hogwarts.

"You must ask me questions, people," he heard him rambling on the other side of the hospital wing, "If you don't I might never know." He sat amongst Severus, Minerva, Cornelia Crouch and the curious man who had introduced himself as Jack Harkness. Undoubtedly, Barty Crouch Senior would show up any moment too, and with him a good part of the ministry. The Doctor, meanwhile, could not care less about politics. "If I need to, I can teach my brain to believe anything," he explained and ran a hand through his hair, "and_ I won't doubt that knowledge._ So I absolutely need you to work with me here."

A heavy silence settled until Severus got up. "How do you expect us to differentiate between your usual ramblings and your delusional ones?" he asked with an arched eyebrow, but his lip curled upward ever so slightly.

The Doctor stared for a moment and finally rolled his eyes. "See, planet Kelt in the constellation of Auriga has this really secluded species of bat people that praise you by discrediting you in front of others," he spoke and arched an eyebrow at his friend, "Now _you_ tell _me_ if that comparison was delusional or not."

It was Severus' turn to stare back blankly, and the Doctor finally stifled a laugh.

Knowing that they had been friends a mere decade ago, Albus had been grateful to watch them warming up to each other once again upon the Doctor's return to Hogwarts. Yet even though it helped lighting the mood – or maybe just because of that, he chose that moment to interrupt the friendly banter. "I do believe we have gathered the most necessary information for the moment," he announced, "Severus, please tend to his arm. It will need more attention than a recovery spell."

Albus might be growing old, but he did not miss the Doctor exchanging glances with Jack rather than his adoptive mother. "In the meantime, we will need to tend to Mister Harkness' injuries, as well,"he commented with an amiable nod towards the alleged muggle.

The Doctor got up to follow Severus out of the room, but sent the man another cautious look.

"I really don't think you need to stitch me up," Jack replied and finally met Albus' eyes with a toothy grin, "but I'm dying to find out what kind of people it takes to make _the Doctor_ spend_ twenty consecutive years on Earth_."

Albus arched an eyebrow. So this was not just a chance meeting, was it? It seemed his conversation with Jack Harkness would become even more interesting than he had anticipated before.

* * *

_Doctor, November 6th, 1994, 0:37_

"The Dark Mark was not designed to be removable, Bartemius," Severus pointed out quietly after he had sat his friend down in his office, his gaze focused on a bleeding forearm as he carefully prodded the darkened skin around the actual wound.  
The Doctor flinched visibly and glared at the tremendously ugly shrunken head adorning the biggest shelf in his friend's office to just think of something else. "I did not exactly have a choice in the matter," he replied unhappily, "Do you know a way that might…slow down the process?" He was perfectly aware of the mark's nature as a contract – a breach on either side had lethal repercussions. Yet he also knew that curse would only degrade slowly. If he managed having the dark mark undone within the next six months, nothing would happen at all. Within the next six months in subjective time, that is. The Dark Lord might be gone, but strictly spoken, the Doctor could visit him any-time in the past, and maybe, just maybe, he would one day find the courage to face his old friend.

He grimaced bitterly and suddenly realized Severus watching him rather than his wound. "You do not appear particularly concerned even though you know what fate awaits you," he noted dryly, "Let me give you a word of advice, then… as a friend, if you will."

The Doctor frowned, but did not reply. He had a feeling he had made a mistake without even realizing it, but then again, what did he have to hide?

"This assault can be explained as an act of revenge meant to remind the world of the Dark Lord's lasting power," Severus explained pensively, "And yet…Nobody knows what became of him. Then, unexpectedly, his most trusted follower rises from the dead to betray his cause. This can only mean two things. Either the man is on a secret mission or he truly has deserted. In both cases, violating his Dark Mark would have the desired effect." With that, he rose from his chair to stride towards a shelf in the far corner of the room and left the Doctor to his own thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, the time lord leant back. So that was is? If he was mysteriously cured, that would prove the Dark Lord's survival, and if he died, he would have deserved it anyway? What about the third option?

"Of course you can also use their plan against them," Severus continued as he returned to his chair, "Luring them out should no longer pose a problem, but you must be careful what you let them find out about. They might follow you very closely without you even noticing."

Their eyes met once again.

"I guess I should thank you," the Doctor offered with a rueful smile, "You've given this plan more than a fortnight's thoughts, and yet you always refrained from executing it."

A heavy silence settled.

"I am guilty of that," Severus admitted at last, "You cannot blame me for wanting to know the truth." He released a sigh. "You have been entrusted with a teaching position at this school and I would welcome you returning some of that...trust," he explained curtly, "Yet I respect you, Bartemius. You do not need to fear me spying on you unless you want me to."

Their eyes locked for another long moment, and this time, it was the Doctor's turn to sigh. "You know, Severus," he spoke with another grimace, "even if you wanted to follow me tending to this..." He briefly lifted his injured arm. "None of your spells can reach into the past."

Severus' eyes widened ever so briefly. "That is all the answer I need," he replied with a curt nod.

The Doctor closed his eyes. His words could mean anything, really, but Severus had gotten their message nonetheless. It was strange how they had never addressed that topic before. No matter how much the Dark Lord's loss pained him, Severus had a right to know, too.

"I do not know of a way to counter the Dark Mark's residual," the potions master spoke after a while, "Yet I have several ideas how to delay the curse."

The sudden return to their original topic startled the Doctor quite a bit. He had several reasons not to tend to the curse right away. Magic might not be able to trace him through time and space, but he still had no real clue as to who exactly it was looking for the Dark Lord so adamantly. So delaying the inevitable as long as possible was his favoured choice of action right then.

"The wound itself may be closed, but you should prepare," Severus warned him as he opened the small dark vial he had placed on the table earlier, "It will hurt."

And that...it did.

* * *

_Opening a creaky, wooden door, he entered a room he had grown more familiar with than he cared to admit._

"_You are late, Doctor."_

_With a heavy sigh and a heavy limp, he stepped into the humble abode his friend had been calling a home for far too long already. "We've got lots of time anyway," he replied with a dry grin and took his customary chair next to the fireplace, "So, how have you been?"_

"_The literature you provided me with proved quite entertaining," the sickly shadow of the man who had once been the Dark Lord replied, "Perhaps you could bring me something more informative next time?"_

_With a small smile, the Doctor rummaged through his pockets and produced a small stack of literature, "I thought you would say that."_

_Aside from the occasional boredom and utter lack of freedom, the Doctor had discovered long ago that treading the slow path also had an interesting amount of advantages. For one, he suddenly got around to doing things he had always intended but never managed doing – like actually reading a good part of the books in the Tardis' library, for example. He was more of a collector, after all, but had often regretted not paying as much attention to those works as they deserved._

_Spending an additional year in Wizarding Britain might be somewhat…tedious, especially with the handicap he had gotten himself, but otherwise, well, he would never have gotten around to actually reading so many great books…and even discussing them with his friend._

_These short meetings, when he would visit the Dark Lord every other week for only a few hours to tend to the potion of resurrection, had become something precious indeed._

_But that didn't mean he would not have preferred a quicker way of saving him._

* * *

_Cornelia, November 6th, 1994, 7:02_

She stood in the doorway watching her sleeping son silently.

When she had retrieved him several hours ago, she had been thankful to find him, well, comparatively alright. He had looked healthy enough and been only mildly injured. He had even insisted on not being tired at all.

But then she had gotten Jack, his curious old friend, to tell her what had happened…or at least, what they had puzzled together so far.

Whether the sun would rise again or whether her son would know the right answer to basically anything – she would have always known the latter to be more likely. But now... He seemed certain enough about most things, yet once he had hesitated explaining something as simple as his students' current curriculum, she had realized that there was more truth to Jack's story than she had wanted to believe. The Doctor insisted on having applied those horrible changes to his memory himself, but, if so…why would he bother altering something as trivial as that?

On the surface, though…he seemed just as capable as normal.

"Do you sometimes wonder if things were meant to happen the way they did?"

Startled out of her reverie, she blinked to find the Doctor sitting up on his bed. It looked like he had been awake for quite a while already – and she had not even noticed. "There is no way of telling, now is there?" she replied softly as she stepped closer and wondered how to address him, "If your memories are contradicting each other, I might be able to help, you know."

He slowly shook his head. "They're not contradicting each other," he replied, "or well, once they do, I think I can tell which one was only imaginary in the first place."

With a slight frown, she sat down at his bedside, much like she had done for the first part of the night. "Then what is it?" she asked.

"I think I could have saved him," he blurted out. Her expression softened. She did not need to ask who _he_ was. Apparently, he had seen the Dark Lord's end, yet he had never shown how much it bothered him...until now, understandably. "Or rather, he was not supposed to die, not like that," the Doctor went on, "With my mind as... open as it is right now, I catch glimpses of a neighbouring reality whenever I fall asleep."

She raised an eyebrow, "And he is alive there?"

"He is," the Doctor replied with a slow nod and eyed her tiredly, "But you're not." He inhaled shakily, obviously troubled.

She could only hold his hand, "I'm alive and here with you right now."

He shook his head. "In August, timelines changed," he explained slowly, "I can see that reality in particular... because it is what was supposed to happen up until then."

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She had grown used to the idea of time travel a long time ago, but it still took her a while to follow her son's words whenever they were talking about timelines and dimensions. But she caught on to his words eventually, and well... She had been close to death in 1982, and she was not entirely surprised to hear she had not miraculously avoided it under different circumstances. But...what was she supposed to say in a moment like this?

"The scary thing is," the Doctor went on, "I _had_ planned to do things the original way." His voice grew even more quiet, "But now that I can see both alternatives..." Gulping, he failed to finish the sentence. "It's like someone exchanged his life for yours," he went on, "and I fear that might even have been me, sometime in the future."

A heavy silence settled, and it took Cornelia quite a while and even more courage to finally speak up again. "If that was true, I'd be...honoured," she whispered softly, "but I don't quite think I'm...important enough."

At once, he opened his mouth to contradict, yet she hushed him, "You understand the workings of the universe so much better than I do, but I don't see why my...survival would be connected to his." She stroked his hand gently. "All I know is that I had already chosen to die in that cell when all of a sudden you showed up in that wonderful blue box of yours and gave me back a life that I had lost so long ago." She smiled fondly, remembering that moment so very clearly.

The Doctor, however, looked back at her blankly. Leaning back slowly, he ran a hand over his face. "Of course, it makes much more sense like that," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

She frowned at him. What was he talking about?

"I've been wondering about that, too," he explained slowly, "In that parallel dimension, I had never fallen ill in 1982." He sighed deeply, "And as it turns out, I haven't done so in this one, either."  
Her frown only deepened. "Of course you haven't," she replied slowly.

He met her eyes again, and chuckled lightly. "Can you believe it?" he asked, "Just now, I actually trusted the Daily Prophet to hold true for once." He sighed, "But it does make sense, doesn't it? Regardless of whether the newspaper reported the truth, it would be least conspicious for me to actually believe it." He actually looked relieved at that insight.

She opened her mouth, but once again took a moment to actually phrase anything. She had briefly forgotten about his condition and silently berated herself about not realizing that sooner. If he had been hiding his true identity, he would conceal anything related to time travel – which included her, after all. "Do you remember?" she asked softly.

It took a while, but he eventually cracked a grin. "You should have seen Bartemius' face when I just turned up on his doorstep," he reminisced, "It was _priceless_."

Cornelia simply smiled back that him. She still doubted he had altered his memories willingly, but for now, she would not bother him with that, for she was happy the mood was lightening again. Her son had mentioned a choice she dreaded thinking further about – her or the Dark Lord. She hoped he would not dwell on it any further, though. He might not realize it, but when he had come to save her on that day so long and yet not long ago, when he had mended their family...he had saved a bit of himself, too.

* * *

**_Memory_**

_Doctor: August 29th 1994, 13:00  
- after the assault of the alleged Death Eaters, yet before the start of term at Hogwarts -  
_

"Welcome," the receptionist spoke in an automated voice, "Please state your name, rank and intention."

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his beloved brown coat just because he _could_, he sent her his brightest beam. "The Doctor, doctor, fun." Oh, he had_ missed_ this. He might have just escaped the Imperius, he might have just saved the world – but nothing could live up to the sheer knowledge of actually being free. He could move, he could ramble, and he could travel all of time and space again.

The receptionist, of course, could not know any of that. She simply arched an irritated eyebrow at his jest. He grinned back sheepishly and handed her the psychic paper, "I have an appointment with Bartemius Crouch." His grin never faded as she checked his credentials and offered him a visitor's badge. "Very well, Doctor Smith. Please hand over your wand and proceed to the 69th floor. Mister Crouch is awaiting you keenly." His grin never faded as he traded badge and psychic paper for the wand he had, quite by chance, snatched off one Harry Potter. The receptionist did not recognize him, even though she was old enough to remember. Nor had anybody else he had passed on his way into the ministry, for that matter. He had, basically, walked into the lion's den, but classy pin-striped muggle clothes, new demeanour and the absence of his glasses served well enough to hide him in plain sight.

"I've never heard of that name, but Dumbledore vouches for him," he overheard Bartemius talking to his young secretary, "Also, he seems to be eager to support the tournament, and we need all the help we can get."

The Doctor chose that moment to clear his throat. Two heads turned in his direction. One simply stared while the other sent him a welcoming smile. With a slightly worried glance towards his boss, the assistant quickly spoke in his stead. "Doctor Smith, is it?" he offered amiably, "We have been looking forward to meeting you."

The Doctor, however, barely noticed him. Just as Bartemius' attention was focused solely on him, he could not stop trying to analyze the emotions in the eyes of the man he had, at one point, called father. Finally, he got himself to step forward and extend his hand with five simple words, "Come home with me, father."

...

Their way out of the ministry was a tense one.

Perfectly aware of how Bartemius was most likely fearing the worst, the Doctor kept humming to himself. "Dumbledore really asked me to teach at Hogwarts, you know," he chatted as he casually looked around the elevator, "obviously, this call will have to be allowed by basically any department the ministry can come up with, so I thought I might as well turn to you first."

Bartemius kept watching him in both confusion and suspicion, but carefully avoided phrasing anything at all. They were in the ministry, after all – the Doctor's mere presence posed a risk, but an actual confrontation might literally turn out fatal for both of them.

They stepped out onto the street at last, and the Doctor saw an expression he had not expected on Bartemius' face.

Resignation.

"I've got a surprise for you," he tried explaining, but words failed him again, as they did so often around his father. Thus, he simply grabbed the wizard's hand and apparated both of them into their house's living room.

Even with Winky sitting in one corner, it looked as if nobody lived there at all. Considering it had been in that state ever since their family had broken oh so many years ago, nothing was tremendously out of the ordinary.

Until Cornelia entered the room with a tray of tea in her slightly shaky hands, greeting both of them with a disarming smile, "Welcome home."

Bartemius stared from his wife to his son and back.

"I cannot interfere in my own timeline," the Doctor explained, "but at least I got her out of Azkaban half an hour after you left her there."

Bartemius breath was growing more and more irregular, and he slowly stumbled towards his wife. "Cornelia," he whispered in a shaky voice and reached out for her, "Please be real."

She placed the tray on the coffee table and caught her husband in a tight embrace. "Of course I am," she cried happily, "I am real and I could not be better."

...

That evening, after thirteen long years, they had a family dinner again.

And the Doctor suddenly realized...that this single evening in itself was absolutely worth all the trouble.

* * *

_Relativity, Part 2.2 - End_

* * *

Notes: So here we are, with one of those events that should have happened in the original plot but were, frankly, too good to be true. Thank god we can have a happy family here, then! ...or, well, comparatively happy, considering all the emotional trauma might never go away... D:

Also, the Doctor arrived at Hogwarts again...and sooner or later: Students! Aliens! Truth and fiction and what the hell happened! Truth and alternate truth and how everything fits with the original plot! Voldie, Jack, and everybody! And, well, as those exclamation marks already imply, I'm really looking forward to writing the rest of this (which is still quite a bit), and as such, I'm also really looking forward to your feedback!

I think I should probably do some kind of overview for the happenings in this multiverse so far, because much is happening, sometimes rather subtly so and not exactly linearly. On that note, I've been intending to sort the chapters of Goedel's Incompleteness in the Doctor's subjective point of view and upload them somewhere, too...or well, I might just keep writing, aaah.

Annnnyway, thanks a lot for reading this far, and see you next time!


	6. I am innocent (1)

Notes: I can't believe this is taking me so long. I kind of drowned in research and cosplay enough to neglect this for quite a while. In any case, I've been intending to get this moving again before Connichi (where you can totally kick my lazy ass if you also happen to be there), so here we are with at least a bit of an update four hours before I have to get up for the train xD

So now a doubled sorry to you guys, firstly for taking forever, secondly for only putting up a bit of a filler episode right now - I still hope you like it, and if I end up not updating in forever again, feel free to just, err, kick me back into action :)

* * *

**Relativity, Part 2: Delusions**

3. "I am innocent" (1)

* * *

_Draco, November 6th, 1994, 9:20_

"Even though he may not appear so, Bartemius Crouch Junior is a very dangerous man," his father had told him when the term had begun, "Be careful around him."

It had been several months since then, and Draco still wondered about that statement. If he were to describe the strange wizard who insisted on being a Doctor, he would call him harmless. Admittedly, the man knew a lot. For that reason alone the Dark Lord must have tolerated him all those years ago, because in any other aspect, well, he was _harmless_.

Harmless enough to get lost in the woods, for example. Lots of strange rumours had spread since the teacher's disappearance. Some spoke of an assault by Death Eaters, others of him getting eaten by a dragon, and finally there were those highly amusing tales about him chasing after a unicorn throughout the Forbidden Forest. Draco really did not consider the last version unlikely at all.

"I forgot to ask whether he'll be back for lessons today," he suddenly heard the Granger girl telling her annoying friends, "I just kind of...assumed it." So Crouch was back, eh? Draco frowned, even more so when he realized the girl was actually _blushing_.

"Is that the duty of his favourite student now?" he sneered, "Bringing breakfast to his quarters?"

She whirled around, staring at him with a scandalized expression. "I met the Doctor and Professor Dumbledore in the hallway earlier," she stuttered, blushing even further, "and that's really none of your business anyway!"

He rolled his eyes. So he had been right after all, huh? "What a shame," he commented, "Professor Snape taught us much more in one lesson than Crouch did all year."

His words worked like a charm; Granger went a red as a tomato – and was even at a loss of words for once.

Draco smirked about his success. Of course he was not being entirely honest and had meant to infuriate the girl, not necessarily to state the truth. If you considered his predecessors, Crouch was doing a decent job. Nonetheless, Draco would have preferred to be taught about the Dark Arts (or the defense thereof) by Snape himself. He was a grand potions master, of course, yet if the rumours were even remotely true, he would make this subject so much more _thrilling_.

On cue, the door to the classroom slammed open.

He did not even have to turn around to be delighted. Crouch usually entered the classroom via the door to his office, and in quite an untroubled fashion. _This_, on the other hand...

"Open your textbooks," Snape hissed as he approached the blackboard in angry, long strides, "Page 314."

Dutifully following his orders, Draco arched an eyebrow in mild surprise as he read the title of the chapter. So they were covering disillusionment charms now? Snape had vaguely followed Crouch's curriculum last time, why would he digress from that now?

Draco was not one to question his teacher's decisions, though.

"If you have learnt anything during the fourteen years you have already spent in this world, you should be able to answer the following," Snape spoke and lowered his voice even further, "What do you assume is the largest threat to mankind?" His gaze wandered through the room, dark and menacing.

Draco noted in bemusement how most students had lowered their heads, but that did not make him volunteer to answer, either. Just as always, Granger would answer the question just fine, and as always, she seemed dead set on gaining their teacher's attention.

"Nobody?" Snape asked, arching an eyebrow.

Another ten seconds passed, and finally, the girl could take it no longer. "Violence and war, sir," she explained, "Muggles or wizards, many believe that eventually humans will just erase themselves."

Finally, Snape met her eyes with a disapproving scowl. "I do not remember calling your name, Granger," he pointed out flatly.

_Any moment now._ Draco grinned to himself. That was sure to lose Griffindor another ten house points.

"Malfoy," Snape suddenly addressed him, "What do you consider...dangerous?"

Draco frowned and answered with a shrug, "Stupidity. Once the world is run by a bunch of fools, we've already lost."

"I see, very well," Snape accepted his answer with a tiny smirk and continued to his next target, "Longbottom, what about you?"

Jumping out of his skin, the idiot actually dropped his book to the floor. "I-I-I," he stuttered and hastily picked the book up again, "I th-think the Dark Arts are d-dangerous, sir." He gulped and added, "M-magic can do so much, and b-before we know it, we might all be g-gone already...or worse."

Snape stared at Longbottom for a long moment. "What if I were to tell you that muggles, too, have developed the means to destroy Earth itself a long time ago?" he replied quietly.

Draco frowned. Muggles? _Really? _He was not exactly surprised to hear about their brutish ways, but he was confused as to why _Snape_ would mention them.

In any case, Longbottom was cowering in fear by then. "I-I-I...," he stuttered.

"It was a rhetorical question," Snape sighed and strode towards the front of the classroom. "All of your answers are correct," he summarized and turned on his heels to face them again, "and they all have one thing in common: eventually, they are products of the human mind. Whether it is violence, killing curses or sheer negligence, all of it is caused by humans... sometimes unintentionally so. Once you deem your own actions right, you do not question them, even though perhaps you should." With a dramatic pause, he scribbled a number of spells on the blackboard. "Something has been hidden magically within this room," he explained, "use your brains, _then_ use the spells you have learnt so far to uncover the truth. I expect you all to come to the right conclusion by the end of the lesson."

With another menacing glance towards the class, he sat down at the teacher's table, signifying quite obviously that they were meant to start. But of course, Granger could not leave it at that.

"Professor," she demanded, "How are we supposed to know what we are looking for?"

Snape arched an eyebrow and kept silent for several seconds. "I do remember asking you to use your brain _first_, Miss Granger," he stressed in a slightly unnerved tone, "A wizard trapping you in an illusion will not bother mentioning that to you, either."

Blushing furiously, Granger shrunk back into her seat, "I understand, professor."

As everyone set to work and Snape started skimming the book on his table in apparent boredom, Draco could not help feeling a bit disappointed. Of course he disapproved of Granger's know-it-all attitude, but much like everybody else in this class, he barely knew what he was expected to do, really.

Thinking first was easier said than done. What was the point?

From the spells on the blackboard, he could at least rule out some. _Aparecium_, for example, would not do them any good – since everybody had their own books, Snape would never have had a chance to place hidden messages there.

But then again, considering he had said he expected _everybody_ to find out, it technically couldn't be something relatively big, like a gremlin hidden in the corner of the classroom. Rather, he would have done something to the tables. Concealed items, perhaps? Shrugging ever so slightly, Draco decided to just give it a go. "Speciales revelio!" he called and waved his wand in the general direction of the wooden surface in front of him, but, well, he was not exactly surprised not to see anything happening. Too easy, was it? That left him with only little more than ten other spells to try out, but at the very least, he had already found out _where_ to apply them.

"Hey Longbottom, don't eat in class!"

Shaken out of his thoughts, Draco quickly discovered the reason for Pansy's sudden outburst. Just a few seats away, Longbottom had stacked more than a dozen bars of chocolate right next to his textbook, and strangely enough...he all but jumped out of his chair at the sight. "That wasn't even there a second ago!" he called out in shock and blushed horribly. Within the next second, though, all the blood drained from his face again – because Snape had gotten up and was approaching him with an arched eyebrow. "What is going on here?"

"I m-must have c-cast the spell wrong!" Longbottom whimpered and lowered his head, "I r-really am a bit hungry."

For ten whole seconds, Snape simply glared back. By the time he actually showed a reaction, Longbottom seemed ready to just pass out in fear. "Do go on then," he spoke tonelessly, "_Eat._" Without another word, he turned on his heels to return to the teacher's table.

The whole class was speechless, though. "What...?" Weasley's incredulous yelp echoed through the room, and the idiot was immediately silenced when his teacher sent him a warning gaze. "Also, five points to Gryffindor for Longbottom being the first of you to figure out this part of the riddle," he added, "Even though...accidentally so."

Once again, the room went deadly silent.

Blinking, Draco tried to make sense of the situation. Snape giving points to Gryffindor – to Longbottom no less? Hell must have frozen over for that to happen...and maybe it had.

"You have been given a task," Snape reminded them dryly, "A task that demands more than uncovering a couple of chocolate bars, I may add. Resume working."

With a frustrated sigh, Draco glared back at his table. Accidentally or not, Longbottom _had_ somehow aimed right for it to work. What else would it be?

Time flew by, but no matter how hard he tried, the spell that would reveal magically hidden items would not produce anything on him – even though it worked for several others. Granger had discovered a brand new book, Potter had gotten some parchment, and even Crabbe and Goyle had succeeded in unveiling even more ratios of sweets.

Resting his chin on his palm, Draco sighed angrily. If even they could do it, he would, too...unless his task was a different one. Maybe – probably – Snape had intended everybody to succeed with a different spell, but then again...the only one Draco hadn't tried yet was one he had ruled out because of its impracticability. But, oh well...

"Aparecium!" he whispered with a lazy wave of his wand...and was stunned to find a hasty scribble appearing on his textbook after all. His mouth curled into a smirk at his eventual success.

"Tastes heavenly, but I'm still hungry," Crabbe commented with a goofy grin and kept on chewing.

Crossing his arms, Draco leant back. "That's because you're always hungry," he commented off-handedly and wondered whether it was a coincidence the sentence on his desktop fit so well with Crabbe's current misery. "_The cake is a lie_, huh?"

"Doesn't it strike you as odd, though?" he overheard Granger talking to her friends. "Everybody discovered something they actually wanted to discover," she pointed out with a wave towards her own stack of books, "The question is, why would Professor Snape _bother_?"

"Yeah, he could just have placed an invisible slugs on all of our tables," Weasley added with a thoughtful nod and lowered his voice, "I really wouldn't put that past him."

With an indignant huff, Draco chose that moment to join the conversation after all. "Maybe he should have given slugs to _you_, idiot," he snapped and smirked when an idea formed in his head, "or maybe he _has_, how do you know?" Once again it did not really matter whether there truly were any snails...the real deal was watching the horrified expression on Weasley's face. Of course, it would be even better to actually make those slugs appear right in front of the idiot, but Draco would rather not risk doing that in front of a teacher.

Unless...

His eyes widened.

Unless those snails really were part of the riddle.

An idea crossed his mind, and no matter how strange it may sound, it made perfect sense. What if none of the students' discoveries were real? What if all of this was part of an illusion? If so, and if what he had gathered so far actually represented the pattern, the spell to reveal hidden items would really just _create_ whatever they had been thinking about anyway...to their perception, at least.

Draco's smirk widened. As such, there really was just one way to prove his point, was there? "Really, Weasley, you should make sure about the snails," he advised with a nod toward's the redhead's desktop, "Or worse, there could be spiders, we can't have _that_, now can we?"

"Stop that, Malfoy!" Potter cut him off with an angry glare, "Ron, just ignore him."

Weasley, however, seemed disturbed enough to mind his suggestion, "But now I'm itching everywhere." With a deep grimace, he shook himself. "Better make sure," he commented and chanted quietly, "_Speciales Revelio._"

When a loud shriek rang through the classroom a moment later, Draco did not need to keep watching to know that he had been right.

Hidden items and messages that were only hidden in their imaginations...He had already been wondering why they had opened the textbooks but never really needed them so far. Realizing that was part of the lesson – and he was dying to find a way out of that illusion. Within moments, he had found the spell he really needed to complete this task.

"Finite Fraudem," he whispered eagerly, and was delighted to hear even more of his fellow students shrieking in surprise – though, admittedly, Crabbe and Goyle mourning their sweets really was becoming unbearable rather quickly.

Thankfully, though, he didn't have to listen that long. Snape had not bothered getting up when Weasley had all but fainted in his unlucky confrontation with all those spiders. Now, however, he was approaching Draco with an actual look of approval. "It appears Mister Malfoy has just halved your amount of homework," he commented with a small nod, "Has anyone of you noticed what he did?" He let his gaze wander through the classroom and eventually arched an eyebrow at Granger, prompting her to speak.

"He ended the illusion, professor," she explained matter-of-factly, "There weren't any hidden items to begin with." Draco noted in mild interest how she seemed rather frustrated – most likely she had come to the same conclusion, but he had been that tiny bit quicker than her. He smirked. Triumph all the way.

"Finite fraudem and finite incantatem," Snape explained patiently, "Spells meant to cancel others demand you to first realize their necessity." He resumed pacing through the room. "Today's lesson was meant for you to understand that your perception might deceive you," he continued, "Occasionally, illusions are cast haphazardly enough for any discrepancies to be discernible. On other occasions, however, you might only realized the truth once you cast a counter-spell out of sheer paranoia. Within the next lessons, you may encounter such a spell once again, so make sure to react to any contradictions."

As Snape sent his students a meaningful glance, Draco suddenly felt...uneasy. He was proud of his accomplishment and both thrilled and awed at the actual lesson...but something still was not quite right. The professor had just told them to be paranoid and suspicious, but that meant...

"Professor, does that mean the D...Professor Crouch won't be returning for a while?" he heard Finnigan asking, "Where is he?"

After a long sigh, Snape replied at last. "This leads us to the end of this lesson," he spoke quietly, "Professor Crouch is currently facing a rather...dire predicament."

He left a deliberate pause, and Draco could literally feel the tension of everybody expecting more details. Was it unicorns or Death Eaters?

"His students seem to confuse him with their potions master," Snape explained with a strangely uncharacteristic frown and waved his wand.

Suddenly, that frown didn't look quite as wrong any more – because it was Crouch wearing it rather than Snape.

Draco's eyes widened in shock. He had suspected it, somewhat, because his favourite teacher _had_ been behaving differently, but this...What the hell.

"Admittedly, it has been quite an interesting experiment," Crouch commented thoughtfully, "which has, by the way, been approved of by Professor Snape, of course." Pondering for a moment, he returned to the teacher's table and leant against it. "Illusions and other mind games are dangerous by nature," he explained, "and to make things even more complicated, they can occur in several layers, as you just noticed. Ending the illusion does not mean you are no longer being fooled, for magic offers a grand number of ways to do so."

Much to Draco's annoyance, the students had started whispering amongst themselves.

"I expect you to ponder these problems and watch the world around you very closely," Crouch finished, "By next week, I want you to tell me whether you are still caught in an illusion or not."

As his teacher casually strode out of the classroom, Draco stared after him in slight shock. He had just recovered from the initial shock...and suddenly this? Would Crouch even dare leaving them under the influence of a spell for a whole week? _What that even allowed?_

Worse yet...Draco was not sure whether he could fulfill this task.

He had ended the illusion, so why had that not included Crouch impersonating Snape? Should he really have been sure about that as well?

What the hell.

School was supposed to be boring and mildly educative, but this...actually gave him goosebumps.

And he finally got an idea of why his father had called Crouch _dangerous_.

* * *

_Notes:_ So this is what happens when the Doctor has to improvise a lesson in a bit of a bad mood. I've been wondering (and maybe you also have) about how he would have had to gain the other Death Eaters' respect back in the old days to get them to listen, and assume Draco's case would be quite similar.

So, as always, thank you for reading!


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